


all we painted was a moment

by kozukenma



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Denial of Feelings, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Pining, Slow Burn, and they were roomates, but they're in japan, can't summarize for shit but give it a chance, dancer!oikawa, iwaizumi does kendo, iwaizumi has a sister in this, iwaizumi's in denial, not following japan’s education system though just a heads up, oikawa's birthday is on november i had to change it for the flow of the plot, seijoh members are dancers too, shit ton of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28405905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kozukenma/pseuds/kozukenma
Summary: In which Iwaizumi learns (too much) about Oikawa and the ups and downs of living together with your best friend.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 6
Kudos: 79





	all we painted was a moment

June 10

Though being 22 years old, Iwaizumi still received a variety of gifts from his friends and family. His gifts ranged from drawn birthday cards from his nephew’s to… odd things he would like to throw inside a closet and never let it see daylight again. He wonders why he’s friends with his friends. However, the one present that stood out was from none other than his best friend. 

“I’ll help you put up some wallpaper,” Oikawa says, next to him, fiddling with his hands. He keeps running his fingers over his knuckles. He hasn’t been still for more than a second since they first arrived at the empty apartment. “Maybe blue? You can decide, of course.”

“We’ll need to buy some things. A lot of things,” Oikawa says, gesturing to the floorboards.

“A bed, of course. You could bring your own from home. Or, I guess, we could buy one,” Oikawa adds, his mouth dry. “I mean, if you want. You can say no.”

That was the one phrase Oikawa kept repeating throughout their journey to the apartment building: ‘You can say no’.

Iwaizumi had not said no. Iwaizumi hadn’t said much at all. He feels like at some point he should say something, but words couldn’t pass the barrier of his lips.

When Oikawa asked him what he wanted for his birthday, Iwaizumi had replied with a sarcastic grin and “a nice night of sleep”. He did not expect… this.

“The rent is reasonable!” Oikawa continues. He gestures to the window, waving his hands. “The view is amazing.”

The view is alright. Blocky houses, visible clothing lines, a bird’s nest. It’s so geometric, they’re all rectangles against the backdrop of the clouds. Iwaizumi has been staring out of the window for so long he feels like it has been imprinted on his eyelids.

“It’s near the university. Walking distance. It’s near a few convenience stores as well. Ninth floor is a little high, I know, but the view! A good view. A very good view.” He nods to himself as if trying to reassure himself.

“And who wouldn’t want to move in with their best friend?” Oikawa says, turning around to look at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi is finding it difficult to focus. He hasn’t been to this side of town often and everything is new, like it’s coated in mystery and Iwaizumi seems unable to talk to the one familiar thing remaining in this place. He’s stunned, more than anything else. He wonders what it’ll be like to look out of this view every night before bed. How the little rectangles would look against a backdrop of night sky.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa finally says, his voice soft. “Can you let me in your head for a moment? I have no idea what you’re thinking.”

Iwaizumi breaks his staring contest with the sky, and looks at Oikawa. 

“I love it,” Iwaizumi finally says. “Our own place.”

“Our own place,” Oikawa repeats, and the nervousness in his eyes and voice diminishes. “Like we talked about, you know? No parents, no dorms, no Residence Advisors. Just us, two friends living by their own means and rules. We can be who we really are, without anyone else.”

It seems a little presumptuous to try and be who you are when Iwaizumi isn’t entirely sure who that is. But Oikawa seems so excited that Iwaizumi figures he can get there with time. And, of course, the idea of being away from his parents’ hands is an enticing one and Iwaizumi is keen to live life from somewhere other than his family home.

“I think this will be good for us, Iwa-chan.” He paused, his eyes sweeping across the room. “I think we’ll be happy here.” Resting an arm around his waist, Oikawa pulled him closer. “Come on, birthday boy, I’ll buy dinner.”

While Oikawa grabs his wallet, Iwaizumi lingers for a moment in the empty room, familiarizing himself with the ebbs and swells of the air circulating. The apartment is small, and as Oikawa tells him, it has one or two leaks and needs serious cleaning, but Oikawa describes the future with such vivid clarity that when Iwaizumi’s eyes flutter close for a moment, he can imagine it. He thinks he’ll like it here.

June 15

“I’ve put us down for a year-long lease.”

Iwaizumi nods, dumping the box of cutlery lovingly harvested from his parents’ house. His back aches, and sweats trickles down his neck. The elevator is temporarily out of order, but he assumes it’ll be fixed by tomorrow. He hopes. He makes an effort to stand up straight, to at least seem slightly less out of breath. He fails, nearly collapsing against the wall.

“That’s short,” Iwaizumi comments.

Oikawa nods. An apron is tied around his waist, and a feather duster protrudes from the pocket, lint clinging to the ends. “I just wanted things to be flexible, you know? In case you want to leave.”

“I’m literally moving my boxes in, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, tilting his head. “You know I’m serious about living here.”

He runs a hand through his hair, and dust trickles out like snowflakes. “I mean, you say so now, but we haven’t lived together before, you know? It might turn out horrible. I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped here. If we wanted to feel like that, we could have just stayed at home. I don't want to force you into anything.”

The undertone of Oikawa's words suggests he’s been running in circles in his mind and Iwaizumi smiles. “Shittykawa, I’m all in.” He stands up straighter. “I want to be here. I’m happy living with you.” 

And Oikawa seems to exhale a breath he was holding in for a week. “Yes. Yes, of course. I’m being silly. You didn’t steal all of your mother’s silverware for me to get all fixated on the idea of you leaving.”

“I’m going to start cleaning the bedroom windows. Can you put on the kettle and we can have coffee when I get back?” Iwaizumi asks, sighing at the thought of the walk down.

“Of course, roomie,” Oikawa replies, taking out the duster and evicting several spider webs from the fireplace.

The elbow grease required to get rid of the rain streaks painting the windows is unbearable – but it’s somehow lightened hearing Oikawa humming under his breath as he cleans inside.

June 22

Their rooms are bare shells, husks of a potential home. At least there’s a bed now and Iwaizumi flops down on the mattress when it’s not even past nine yet.

Muscles ache from carrying boxes up nine flights of stairs. The building manager so kindly informed him the elevators were still being repaired and the dust present in the apartment doesn’t seem to reduce no matter how much they both try. It's easy to become a little despondent on how their dreams of an idealistic apartment life are crumbling like the tiles in the bathroom.

They could have asked for help from their parents. Siblings. Friends. They could have probably ran out on the street and asked anyone to pitch up with a broom and assist in assembling furniture.

But there’s a sort of unspoken agreement between him and Oikawa. This is their apartment, and if that means they have to do everything themselves, that’s just fine. Because it’s theirs.

The whole place is so devoid of furniture it echoes at the slightest of sounds, and when Iwaizumi hears footsteps approach his room door, he internally sighs. He rolls over onto his back and lazily glances up to see Oikawa hanging on the doorframe.

“Hey, you,” Oikawa says.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says, attempting to keep the tiredness out of his voice.

“Going to have an early night?”

Iwaizumi figures the fact that he’s currently wrapped in his sheets is sufficient evidence. “I’m really tired. Is there a box I forgot to bring up or something?”

“No, not at all. I just came to say goodnight!” Oikawa says brightly.

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says, eyebrows furrowing. “I… didn’t expect that.”

“What’s the point of living together if we don’t say goodnight to each other? It’s better than our usual thing of texting until you pass out and you wake up to fifty texts from me asking if you’ve died.”

Iwaizumi’s lips unconsciously curve upwards at the memory. “Yeah, this is definitely an improvement.”

Oikawa looks around the shell of Iwaizumi's room enraptured. “I’m excited, you know? We’ve got so much stuff to do, but I feel like once we’ve got everything sorted, we’re really gonna like it here. We can stay up late watching movies, and cook dinner together and play games, and it’s just… gonna be great,” Oikawa says, trailing off.

“That sounds kind of perfect,” Iwaizumi says, suddenly wishing his fatigue would disappear so he could start on those dreams right now. “I can’t wait.”

“Yeah,” Oikawa says. “Me neither. Get your rest, sleepyhead, we’ve got a big day of moving in ahead of us.” 

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” he replies, and the last thing Iwaizumi sees before he switches the light off is Oikawa’s blinding grin. 

July 4

Iwaizumi learns some new things after living with Oikawa.

He pours milk in before the cereal, and he’s intensely fond of eating cereal for dinner. It’s strange, but he seems to enjoy it.  
He’d rather drink from the same cup twice than wash the dishes. He’s awful at dishes in general, placidly placing plate after plate atop the mountain forming in the sink.  
He likes to walk around barefoot.  
His voice in the morning is raspier than usual, and when his heavy-lidded eyes meet Iwaizumi’s across the table, and Oikawa grunts out a “good morning”, he sounds nice. Really nice. Possibly the nicest he’s ever sounded.

July 10

It’s been a month since they’ve moved in, and Iwaizumi is riddled with mixed emotions about living with his best friend. He’d been warned by his family members and other friends that being roommates was by no means the eternal celebration of friendship that it may seem, and that tension can grow in such an intimate, enclosed environment. He'd also just assumed this was his mother's attempts at blackmailing him to stay home.

It’s fun, of course it is, but it’s also maddening. For every movie night with pizza that ends in them falling asleep on the couch in front of the fireplace, there’s a day where Iwaizumi slams his door shut to avoid having to see the decaying state of the kitchen.

The apartment grows gradually filthier until Iwaizumi snaps and impulse buys a vacuum cleaner, using an entire Sunday to clean the house till the smell of old food leaves the air and the dishes balanced precariously in the sink are washed.

Oikawa doesn’t help much, he awkwardly dusts a bookshelf and airs out the couch cushions – but after that day he does at least try to be neater. A little. Sort of.

And Iwaizumi supposes that’s enough for now.

July 24

He’d known the flu was spreading around and had popped Vitamin C pills like they were candy. He sanitized his hands after touching every doorknob, and then sanitized the bottle of hand sanitizer, just to be that little bit extra careful.

It’s pointless though, isn’t it, because they’re walking home one night from the university as usual and Oikawa starts sneezing and he doesn’t stop. He barely makes it up the stairs and into the bathroom before he’s violently throwing up in the toilet, and Iwaizumi hesitates outside the door.

Of course, he should help, it’s his role as a good human being and as someone who is also forced to use that shared bathroom. But also, he’d rather not deal with the various substances leaving Oikawa at heightened speeds. His role as nurse is unfortunately thrust upon him when he hears a weak voice from the bathroom.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa moans, “I think I’m sick.”

Iwaizumi is less than happy to have to spend the whole night walking up and down from Oikawa’s room to the kitchen, swabbing his forehead with a damp towel and attempting to force him to drink water.

“My throat hurts. I don’t want to drink anything.”

“You’re losing fluids.”

“Good, I don’t want fluids! They’re all horrible!”

Oikawa is many things, and as Iwaizumi now discovers (which he should’ve known already, considering how annoying and whiny Oikawa is in his normal state), a horrible patient is one of them. He cries a lot, he moans, he regresses to a childlike state, he blasphemes several different deities, and throughout it all, he never bothers to thank Iwaizumi or at least cover his nose when he sneezes.

“I think I’m going to die,” Oikawa announces after a loud, phlegmy cough.

“I’ll take care of your family,” Iwaizumi replies, handing Oikawa another tissue.

“Tell my mother I love her.”

“She’d be happy.”

Oikawa scowls and would probably have launched in a reproach for his careless words, but Iwaizumi is spared as Oikawa launches into another coughing fit. Iwaizumi steps back from Oikawa’s bed and washes his hands again. Then, another time, just to be sure.

When he finally passes out from fever and exhaustion, Iwaizumi settles on the other side of his bed, already acknowledging he’s not going to get any sleep tonight. He supposes Oikawa would be fine by himself now that he’s unconscious, but despite how horrible Oikawa was as a patient, Iwaizumi didn’t think it would be nice for him to wake up to an empty room.

He opens up a manga lying on Oikawa’s bedside table and thumbs through it, occasionally catching a peek at Oikawa’s fitful sleeping.

It’s been increasingly hard to find sympathy for him, but it’s easier now that he’s no longer actively complaining. Iwaizumi strokes the stray brown hairs out of his eyes, massaging his scalp with his free hand as he continues to read. His skin is burning hot, but Iwaizumi doesn’t move his hand.

Oikawa doesn’t wake up, but his sleep is calmer. 

July 26

“I hear the flu’s going around,” Hanamaki tells him as they wait in line at the sushi restaurant.

“Trust me. I know.”

August 2

“And how’s Oikawa?” Akari, his sister's, voice increases in excitement and volume and Iwaizumi pulls the phone slightly away from his ear.

“Oikawa is fine,” Iwaizumi replies, adding far more emphasis than necessary. “He’s great. Never been better.”

“Can I speak to him?”

Iwaizumi mentally rebukes himself for ever having introduced his family to Oikawa. Of course they’d absolutely adore him, what was Iwaizumi thinking? They’d all been instantly taken with him, dying to talk to him privately, and sometimes Iwaizumi wondered if his mother only sent food over because she wanted to get a thank you phone call from Oikawa.

“He’s, uh, not here anymore,” Iwaizumi says, and instantly regrets his phrasing when he hears the gasp from Hyewon.

“What do you mean?! Where is he?” she demands. “Did you kick him out or something?”

He lowers the volume on his phone. “No! It’s nothing like that, I misspoke. Calm down. Oikawa’s just in the shower.”

Oikawa, who was very much not in the shower and is currently sitting on a barstool at the island counter, a spoonful of yoghurt in his mouth, raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, alright then. Gosh, couldn’t you have said that to begin with?” Akari chides in that particular tone only an older sibling can use. “You made me worry.”

Iwaizumi makes eye contact with Oikawa, hoping his pleading expression stops him from asking any questions. “He’s fine. Really. He’s great. I saw him this morning and he had a healthy glow surrounding him. He’s been eating lots of vegetables.”

“What vegetables?” Akari presses.

“Uh. Peas. And tell Mom that as well before I get another phone call enquiring about his health.”

The corner of Oikawa’s mouth curves upwards and he attempts to laugh as quietly as possible. Iwaizumi barely listens to his sister’s tangent, tuning in for the last part of her sentence.

“…and he was not happy. You need to call more often.”

“I know. I’ll try,” Iwaizumi says, pacing around the kitchen counter.

“Okay. Fine,” she says, her voice signalling a conclusion. “I’m glad you’re well and Oikawa is too. Send him my regards, okay?”

“I will.”

“Love you!” she sings.

“I do too.”

“Say it, Iwaizumi.”

“I love you too,” Iwaizumi complies and ends the call before she adds anything further.

Oikawa is eating another spoonful when Iwaizumi turns to him, bracing himself for the explanation he is about to give. “So, why am I allegedly in the shower?”

“It was Akari. She was asking about you, and she’d just waste your time, you know how she is. Wants the full story. Don’t worry about it,” Iwaizumi says quickly.

Oikawa sets his face in an expression of mock offense. “Iwa-chan, come on, I’ve eaten at your family’s dinner table a great many times. I don’t mind talking to them, you know? I like them.” His face breaks into a smile. “Akari’s wonderful.”

“Ugh, please, you don’t need to feel obligated to talk to them.”

“I really don’t mind. It’ll make her happy. Go on, call her back.” Oikawa pushes the forgotten yoghurt bowl away, and looks at Iwaizumi expectantly.

“Are you sure?”

Oikawa bounces up and neatly takes the phone from his hand. “I’ll do it myself.” He unlocks the pattern passcode on his first try and smiles at the lock screen. “This was such a cute selfie of us. It’s so old though, we should take a new one soon. My hair is much better now.” Without giving Iwaizumi a chance to respond to the criticism of his lockscreen or the knowledge that Oikawa knew his passcode, Oikawa already has the phone next to his ear.

Iwaizumi stares, slightly in disbelief as Oikawa starts talking.

“Akari! Hello! It’s Oikawa. Yeah, I just got out of my shower. Iwaizumi told me you called and I nearly slipped out of the bathroom in my rush to talk to you. It’s been so long, how’s my favourite girl doing?”

And Iwaizumi can’t quite make out the words in his sister’s reply but her voice sounds excited when she replies.

Oikawa has that sort of charisma that Iwaizumi can't even fathom. It's mystifying how people do not instantly fall in love upon meeting Oikawa when he exudes an energy like no other, sheer positivity and brightness.

“Of course, of course, you need to keep me updated on how your doctorate’s going as well. Just a second, your brother’s awkwardly staring at me and I’m wondering if he doesn’t have anything better to do,” Oikawa says pointedly.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah, alright,” Iwaizumi says, feeling oddly like he’s being dismissed from his own family. He takes off a cereal box from the top of the fridge and focuses on making his breakfast, trying not to eavesdrop on Oikawa’s conversation but doing so anyway.

“You know I always do. Iwaizumi’s lucky to have a sister like you,” he hears Oikawa say. “Yes, we've been eating peas quite a bit lately.”

Iwaizumi, a good son, who can't lie to his family that much, sighs as he adds peas to the grocery list, right underneath milk bread.

There’s a pause and then Oikawa laughs. “I’m sure he does, he doesn’t need to say it in quite those exact words. He’s not nearly as eloquent as you are.”

Oikawa catches Iwaizumi’s eye and grins. “Actually? Yeah. I know he does.”

He says his farewells, promising to talk again soon, and wishing her a good week ahead, and hands the phone back to Iwaizumi, a triumphant glint in his eyes.

“That was a fun conversation! She’s so lovely. You should be nicer to her,” Oikawa replies, digging into his yoghurt.

“What did she ask you?” Iwaizumi inquires, failing to keep the curiosity out of his voice.

Oikawa hesitates. “Well, that’s between me and her, isn’t it? Call her more often and ask her yourself. It’s nothing bad, try not to worry.”

It’s not quite a ‘moment’ as much as the singular brushing past of a moment on the way to the next interaction. It’s seconds where nothing happens and nothing is said but Iwaizumi catches Oikawa's glance and there’s a pause of sustained eye contact. It’s longer than it should be.

And then it ends, and Iwaizumi puts down the cereal box and Oikawa eats another spoonful. A dollop smudges onto his nose and Iwaizumi smirks at the sight, turning around, and resumes pouring his milk.

August 7

“Are you sure you don’t want to come out with me?” Iwaizumi asks, lingering in the doorway. “It’s just me and a few friends. You get along with them. It’ll be fun!”

Hanamaki had spun him a story of a club with a dancefloor ripe with idols, an intoxicating atmosphere of smoke and expensive liquor and the best company around, and despite himself, Iwaizumi felt taken with this fantasy. When Hanamaki suggested meeting up on Friday night after practice and experiencing it for themselves, Iwaizumi jumped at the opportunity.

Oikawa, face red, dripping with sweat, shakes his head. “I’ve gotta practice, I’m having so much problems with this dance. And you know I’m not much of a drinker, anyway.”

“You don’t have to drink,” Iwaizumi reasons, “You can just have a good time.”

Oikawa smiles a bit at his persistence. “Go have fun. I’ll see you at home. Try not to stay out too late. We’ve gotta get up early.”

August 8

Iwaizumi's fingers fail at entering the passcode to his front door two times. The first time he genuinely forgot the code, vaguely remembering Oikawa mentioned that the code should be their birthdays put together, but forgetting the order. There was a ‘0’ in there somewhere, but evidently not where Iwaizumi thought it was. The second time he just sort of gave up halfway through punching it in, and slumped against the wall, his arm dropping and hand hitting all the buttons on the way. He knocked on the door, far too loudly for 4am.

The throbbing in his head matched the rhythm at which he knocked, and when the door swung open to reveal a bleary-eyed Oikawa, he belatedly realized that while he didn’t care if his neighbours’ sleep was disrupted, he didn’t want his roommate to share that fate.

“Iwa-chan? God, I thought you got home hours ago,” Oikawa says, checking in the hallway before pulling Iwaizumi inside, closing the door behind him.

It’s still dark in the lounge, and Iwaizumi makes a half-hearted attempt to turn on the lights but Oikawa gets there faster. In the illumination, he can now see the dark rings under Oikawa’s eyes and his dishevelled hair. He must have been genuinely sleeping.

“What happened?” Oikawa asks, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, yawning.

“Oh man, Shittykawa, you should have gone. It was like… amazing,” Iwaizumi murmurs, eyes starry. “The club was amazing. We saw someone who’s name I can’t say for legal reasons but wow, I never knew they could grind like that in public. Then we ran into one of Matsukawa’s friend, and we changed clubs because they told us about a sword eater performing, and then I think someone gave us a round of free shots?” Iwaizumi says, framing it as a question, and quickly recognizing that Oikawa would not have the answer, he continues. “My head is killing me. God, it’s killing me. I hope the others got home safe. I lost a lot of them along the way.”

“How did you get home safe?” Oikawa asks, a hint of irritability in his voice as he enters the adjoining kitchen, switching the faucet on.

“Uh. Good question,” Iwaizumi says, attempting to rack his brain for the answer. He was in a car at some point, he remembers holding someone’s hair back when she threw up and that was definitely out of a taxi window. “Taxi, I think. No idea who paid. Hope it wasn’t me, it was probably a fuck lot of money.”

Oikawa mutters something under his breath which sounds suspiciously like ‘dumbass’ and shoves a glass of water to Iwaizumi. “Drink.”

“I’ve had enough to drink,” Iwaizumi declines.

“Yes, that’s abundantly clear, but this isn’t really a choice.” Oikawa pushes the glass further. “Drink.”

Iwaizumi would have been willing to debate further but Oikawa’s eyebrows are tightly furrowed together, and he seems genuinely pissed off, and Iwaizumi takes the first sip from the glass.

“Do you think you’ll throw up?” Oikawa has his eyes on the bathroom wearily as if ready to escort him at the slightest inclination of sickness. 

“Maaaaaybe?” Iwaizumi says, waving his hand from side to side.

“Iwa-chan, a direct answer, that’s literally all I want. I just need to know whether to move you into the toilet or not,” Oikawa groans, flopping down on a bar stool next to him.

“You can go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to bother you,” Iwaizumi apologizes. “Really. Honestly. I’m sorry.”

Oikawa’s expression softens. “You weren’t bothering me. I mean, I’m annoyed you woke me up from my deep sleep I haven’t had in weeks and you’re too drunk to stand up straight, but there’s no point telling you that now. You’ve already drifted off.”

It takes Iwaizumi several minutes to realize Oikawa stopped talking. “Sorry. I was thinking if we’ve ever considered buying a heater?”

“No,” Oikawa answers promptly. “But that’s really irrelevant at the moment. How much did you even drink? Can you give me any sort of number?”

“Ten.”

“Ten what? Shots? Glasses? Bottles?”

“Ten out of ten. Because that’s what you are,” Iwaizumi says, carelessly shooting finger guns, and Oikawa’s expression is somewhere between amused and exasperated.

“Glad to know you appreciate my good looks. And here I was, thinking that you just keep me around because I pay half the rent. Seriously, if I’d known you’d be this amusing I should’ve brought my phone so I can finally blackmail you with something,” Oikawa gestures to the glass. “Keep drinking, asshole. You’re in for a rough hangover. I haven’t seen you this far gone in about a year. Hope you had a good night.”

“I did! But…” Iwaizumi pauses and looks down. “I’m sorry that I woke you.”

“It’s okay, Iwa-chan. I’d rather you wake me than sneak in when you’re in this kind of condition,” Oikawa says. “When you’re done drinking, I’ll put you to bed. I’m still waking you up for practice tomorrow, though. If you’re sober enough to use full sentences, you’re sober enough to go through practice.”

“Ughhhhhhh,” Iwaizumi moans, leaning on the counter, fully stretching his arms out. “That’s horrible. I should just die in my sleep.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Iwa-chan. That’s more my thing. You don’t do it half as good as I do, anyway.”

Iwaizumi tilts his head to look at Oikawa. He’s sitting in his pyjamas with his arms crossed, looking at him with such an expression of fond amusement that it brings a blush to his cheeks.

“Thanks Trashykawa,” Iwaizumi says, lifting the glass. “For making sure I don’t die of alcohol poisoning.”

“I literally just poured you a glass of water and opened the door, but sure, I’ll take sole credit for that.”

Abruptly, Iwaizumi attempts to sit up straight, turning his stool closer to Oikawa. He woke up from sleep to open the door just because Iwaizumi couldn’t seem to use the damn keypad. He had to realize this wasn’t just an expected act of friendship. It meant something to Iwaizumi. “No, no, I’m serious. Thank you. You’re like my guardian angel. I feel like you’re always looking out for me.”

“That’s a bit of a striking proclamation, but nothing new,” Oikawa replies, his voice softer. “You should know by now I’m always behind you.”

“But I don’t really thank you, do I?” Iwaizumi thinks out loud. “I’m just… used to it, by now. God, it was so weird when I met you. I never had a best friend like that before and you came out of nowhere and suddenly I felt like I could tell you everything. Now when you’re not with me, it just feels like something’s off,” Iwaizumi says, and this feels right, it feels good to just talk without worrying if the words are right.

Oikawa’s eyes widen. “I didn’t know I was your first close friendship.”

“I suppose there were others, but there was never anyone like you. How presuming of me to think there’s someone close to the kind of person you are in the universe,” Iwaizumi says. “I think I’m wiser now, at least about you. I know you, and I know that you are the single most unique individual in this universe. I feel like sometimes I’m just some stray pebble in your orbit. You carry on with or without me. But I’d need you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

There’s a breath of silence that lasts for too long, and Iwaizumi figures this must mean he should continue talking, because if Oikawa wanted him to stop, he would have said it. Right? That’s right. His vision is getting blurry now, but his words aren’t.

“I shouldn’t say this.” He pauses.

“If you think you shouldn’t say it, then you shouldn’t,” Oikawa says, very carefully. “I don’t want you to regret it in the morning.”

But he wants to. And he says that and Oikawa bites his lip but makes no further protests.

“I was worried that when we moved in together it would be horrible. We’d end up fighting all the time and we’d stop being friends. That you’d get to know me too well and you’d just end up hating me. And then I was worried that the same would happen to me about you.”

Iwaizumi pauses. His throat is growing dry, and he takes another gulp of water.

“And did that happen?” Oikawa asks, his voice fearful and Iwaizumi looks at him.

“No, no, that didn’t happen at all,” Iwaizumi says, soothingly, laying a hand out on the countertop, an open but casual invitation. “I’ve just…” Iwaizumi pauses. “What’s a word that’s like falling? I guess it is falling. I’ve just fallen more and more into you. It’s like you’re some sort of gravitational pull. I feel like with you I’m always hurtling forward to a singular point. Is that a bad thing?”

“I… I don’t know, Iwaizumi,” Oikawa says, his eyes fixed on the outstretched hand in front of him. “I don’t really know where this is coming from, and how much of this is really you, and how much is the drinks.”

“No, no, this is all me!” Iwaizumi exclaims, standing up. He wobbles slightly, and almost stumbles until he stands in front of Oikawa, and he looks so small and sleepy in his light blue pyjamas that Iwaizumi forces himself to resist the urge to scoop him up into his arms, if for the sole reason he may trip and they’d both fall.

“Oikawa, I just don’t think I tell you enough how much I care about you.” And Iwaizumi finds confidence he didn’t think he had, and lays a hand on Oikawa’s cheek, tenderly padding his fingertips over the soft skin. “I really do care about you. So much. More than I should.”

Oikawa is staring up at Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi is becoming alarmingly aware of how close his… everything is to Oikawa. He can count the individual eyelashes on his eyelids. He can see the way his lips part with each breath he takes, and he can feel the heat exuding from him. He ‘isn’t really thinking’ is the excuse he gives himself when he lets his thumb brush past Oikawa’s lower lip, caressing the sensitive skin. It falls open slightly. It’s moist. It’s soft. It’s nice. A soft whimper fills the room, and Oikawa’s eyes seem to hold an emotion that can’t be named.

His breath is hot on his thumb, and neither moves, frozen, suspended in a single flawless moment dangling from a spider’s thread.

It’s like he’s spinning on the thread, spinning in orbit, and he can’t take his eyes off who’s in front of him, and everything is too quiet, too unmoving, and Oikawa’s eyes flutter closed and Iwaizumi has no thoughts, only feelings when he leans in –

But his lips never connect, and then Oikawa is moving back, stepping out of the chair, breaking the point of contact as Iwaizumi’s hand falls uselessly to his side.

“What?” Iwaizumi asks, wondering if he had grossly misread the situation. He doesn’t really have the capability to account for his own actions at this point, but Oikawa seemed receptive. His eyes had a fiery look in them, like before they burned, they’d warm first.

“Iwa-chan, you’re catastrophically intoxicated,” Oikawa says, after a long exhale. “You need to go to sleep.”

“But-”

“No.” Oikawa takes another step back. “Not like this.”

The thread snaps.

“I’m not that drunk,” Iwaizumi protests but when he attempts to move closer, his feet catch on the carpet and he holds onto the counter to stop himself catapulting to the ground. The world continues spinning around him even when he stops moving.

“Oikawa-” Iwaizumi begins. Oikawa shakes his head, walking ahead to Iwaizumi’s room and opening the door for him.

“Go sleep, Iwa-chan. You’re tired. You’re drunk. You’re saying things you don’t mean. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Iwaizumi wishes to rewind time, just a few seconds back with his hand on Oikawa’s cheek, that was nice. This isn’t.

“I… I had more things to say. That I really do want to say.” Iwaizumi’s mind, usually vaulted shut, was pried open and all he wanted to do was tell Oikawa everything he couldn’t. Words were difficult and Iwaizumi… Iwaizumi was not a brave man. He just wants to tell him in no uncertain terms how much he likes him, how much he cares for him, how moving in with him was the best decision even though sometimes it hurts when other people's gazes linger on him for too long and Iwaizumi’s not sure why. Iwaizumi wants to tell him now, because he’s not sure if he’ll be able to tomorrow, or ever.

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” Oikawa says, ushering Iwaizumi inside.

He falls on the bed, on top of the covers, and lets out a groan as his headache seems to amplify at the motion.

“Try and get some rest. Goodnight, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi wakes up to a glass of water, aspirin and a throbbing head. He sighs, taking the aspirin, and falling back on the bed, attempting to separate what happened in his dreams and what actually happened. The only thing he’s really certain of is that Oikawa stopped by his room to say goodnight, as he always did.

He never quite manages to figure out exactly what happens and Oikawa never presses him further, and the whole event just sort of fades from his mind. It just becomes a memory of a night that seemed more like a dream.

August 21

Iwaizumi is on his hands and knees, his fingers clenching into the tufted carpet, his back protesting the movement.

“Do you have good news for me?” Oikawa asks, kneeling next to him, placing a hand on his spine, nudging him down further. “Any chance you found my favourite ring? I lost it when we moved in and I’ve missed it ever since.”

“Nope, no ring. Found about twenty dirty tissues and cash,” Iwaizumi says, jerking a thumb to the pile next to him. Oikawa wastes no time in eagerly digging among the tissues and dust to find the banknote.

Iwaizumi groans as he attempts to lift up the night frill around Oikawa’s bed. “I have to say, I have literally no clue where your spare house keys could be. There’s no possible reason as to why it would be under your bed.”

“I can’t find them and I checked everywhere else! Maybe I got homesick and slept with them one night and they fell. Just check. Use those long arms to my advantage for once,” Oikawa encourages. “The keys to my mom’s house are in that bunch, and she’s going to call me back in three hours and she’ll drive all the way here to strangle me if I lost it.”

“Maybe it’ll be a good lesson for you,” Iwaizumi replies acidly, digging his arm deeper under Oikawa’s bed, instantly retracting it when his hand brushes against something unfamiliar and slippery under his fingertips. “What the fuck was that?”

Oikawa puts his head against the carpet, stares horizontally at the darkness under his bed, before pulling out an abandoned chocolate bar. “Oh! I forgot about this, you bought this for me around June?”

“It’s fucking August, Oikawa.”

“Chocolate doesn’t expire,” Oikawa says, placing the bar on his bedside table. “This was a good idea. I think I see one or two socks under here too.”

“Those are my fucking socks,” Iwaizumi snaps, pulling out a pair of black ones. “I was looking for these! I had to wear those reindeer patterned socks you got me last year for a meeting with my dad. He noticed. He commented on it. He did not find it funny.”

There’s not a hint of guilt on Oikawa’s face. “Come on, it’s a talking point if nothing else,” his voice muffled by the bed.

Iwaizumi gets to his feet with difficulty. His muscles already ache with the pains of training, and he’s had an early morning start every day this week and he truly feels like having to crawl under his roommate’s filthy bed was going above and beyond his duties as a friend.

“I’m going to my room,” Iwaizumi announces, leaving Oikawa on the floor, thinking he probably deserves whatever tongue lashing he gets from his mother.

“Iwa-chan, wait, come on, please, you know I can’t lose those. She’s gonna kill me, and then she’ll call your mom, and tell her to kill me as well,” Oikawa wails.

“Shittykawa, I don’t know where it is, I can’t make keys out of thin air. I’m exhausted.” He sighs, “I really just want to have a shower and take a nap. We have another early start this morning.”

“Please, Iwa-chan, she’s gonna phone me soon asking me for those spare keys,” Oikawa says. He’s openly whining now, and he scrambles to his feet and suctions himself to Iwaizumi like a leech. A beautiful brown-haired leech with a stunning smile, but a leech nonetheless.

Iwaizumi uselessly attempts to move Oikawa’s arms from his waist but it’s wrapped around too tightly.

“Please keep looking. Two minds are better than one.”

“I don’t know if you even have one, dumbass.”

“Well then, more reason for you to help me. It’ll just be one mind then. I’m working with none,” Oikawa says, placing his chin on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Come on, I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Oh, really? How do you plan to bribe me this time?” Iwaizumi asks, raising an eyebrow, observing Oikawa in his bedroom mirror. He’s attempting to bury himself in his own oversized shirt. It’s sort of endearing.

He lowers his voice to a purr. “I’ll do the dishes.”

“You need to do that, anyway. About a week ago already.”

“I’ll do the dishes twice in a row. And I’ll do the laundry.” When this elicits no reply from Iwaizumi, Oikawa sighs and adds: “I’ll also wake up a little earlier tomorrow to get you coffee.”

“Oh, really?” Iwaizumi says, perking up considerably. “That would be quite enticing.”

“Fine. Okay. Deal. I’ll do the dishes, the laundry, and I’ll get your coffee. Will you help me now?”

“Get off me then,” Iwaizumi says, trying to take a step forward and ending up pulling Oikawa with him, “I can’t help you unless you detach yourself from my person, you leech.”

“You’re so nice to snuggle, you’re like a pretty beanpole,” Oikawa says, hugging him tighter, less like a leech now and more like a lovable puppy.

Iwaizumi sighs. “Oikawa, what happened to being worried about your imminent death at the hands of your mother?”

This seems to awaken the survival instincts in Oikawa and he abruptly extricates himself from Iwaizumi at the mention of her and drops to his knees, reaching under the bed again. “God, where is it?”

Iwaizumi kneels down as well, mourning the loss of his evening.

September 1

“Enjoy your coffee bribe.”

“What did you get me?”

“Americano, no sugar. That’s always your order, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. Thanks.”

September 4

The cold crawls in the apartment and stays, it takes residence as an unwanted guest, and the air becomes thick with humidity and tension. Frustration creeps up under the crack in Iwaizumi’s door frame and toxic arguments begin to linger, and he would retract his previous statements to his parents, Oikawa was a horrible roommate. The apartment decayed into a garbage dump of dust and dirty dishes.

He doesn’t want to start a fight – but it may not be a choice.

“Can you just clean up for one day in your fucking life, Shittykawa?” Iwaizumi snaps, throwing him a discarded shirt lying on the floor. It catches him where he lays on the couch, feet on the arm rest, reading something on his phone. He’s been rotting in the same position for so long there’s an imprint on the cushions.

“I’ll get to it.”

“You said that yesterday. And the day before. I’m pretty sure the last time I saw you wear that shirt was a week ago. Why didn’t you just keep it in your room?”

“God, just calm down, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa drawls. “It’s a t-shirt on the floor, I didn’t commit war crimes.”

Iwaizumi’s nails dig into his palm till they make crescent marks. “Are you just, like, not listening to me?”

“Drink a glass of water or something, I’ll get to it later,” Oikawa says, not taking his eyes off the phone screen.

“If it’s not too difficult, could you stop being useless for maybe just one day? If you try hard enough?” Iwaizumi says, and even to his own ears, it’s a bit harsh, but he’s gone too far now. His ears ring with hot blood.

Oikawa puts the phone down, and sits up, staring at Iwaizumi. He doesn’t look hurt – but to say he was unaffected would be a lie. “Are you quite done?”

And he wasn’t. Iwaizumi realized he wasn’t. He could go into alphabetized detail for every single one of his complaints about Oikawa, and all it would accomplish was a screaming match, and that would just make the apartment unbearably hotter.

Iwaizumi found himself craving a lack of independence, because independence was nice and all until your roommate decided to live like hurricanes barrelled through the living room daily. How nice it would be to have a mother walk in and order everything to be neat and tidied. Like his own mother, she was always so unrelenting in her quest for cleanliness.

And Iwaizumi finds himself thinking of his homestead. His parents’ house – his old home – had a heater. It had a stocked fridge, it had a massive TV, a pool table and most importantly, it didn’t have Oikawa.

“I think I need to go home,” Iwaizumi says in a much calmer tone. “I think I just need some time to myself.”

Oikawa shrugs. “For how long?”

“I don’t know. Just a week. Maybe two. I just… I can’t be here anymore.” Iwaizumi says.

“Fine,” Oikawa says, picking up his phone and scrolling.

“Fine?”

“I can’t stop you. Have fun, I guess. See you whenever you decide to come back.”

It’s Iwaizumi’s own foolish expectations. That’s the reason he feels bad and there’s a weight in his heart as he packs his suitcase. What did he expect Oikawa to do? Beg him to stay in their stuffy apartment so they can yell at each other more? He fires off a text to his brother to let him know he’s coming home for a bit, another to Hanamaki to let him know his plans, and one to his coach making up a family emergency. He zips his suitcase close with more force than necessary.

He packs relatively light, because he knows he’ll come back.

He doesn’t pack as light as he should for ‘just a week’ though, because he’s not sure when he’ll want to come back. He’s just so sick of this apartment with its cold and its dirty dishes and his roommate who appears to have no actual regard for anyone but himself.

There’s a stillness in the apartment now when Iwaizumi wheels his suitcase in, and he’s still not entirely sure how he ended up fully prepared to leave just to avoid having to look at him for any longer. He pauses at the front door, hesitant. Oikawa still hasn’t moved from the couch. The discarded shirt is picked up, though, and it breaks Iwaizumi’s resolve.

“Oikawa…” Iwaizumi begins.

“See you,” Oikawa says, in a tone of finality, not looking up. “Tell your mom I said hi.”

Iwaizumi slams the door shut behind him.

September 6

Iwaizumi wanted to go home until he actually arrived. Then he realized despite the financial cost and the personal problems associated with living on his own, he would never willingly want to move back. He missed his family, of course, but it was easy to miss them when he was far away and they were just a distant but loving memory. It proved much more challenging to have to live with them, to have to eat dinner with them and smile at them even when they were incapable of leaving him alone for more than five minutes at a time.

Iwaizumi wouldn’t be so dramatic and say it’s like being sent back in jail after living a life on parole, but it’s too close to the comparison for comfort.

Comfort in general was a thing he now lacked. He didn’t have a bed. In all his infinite money-saving glory, when Iwaizumi moved, he just arranged his bed to be transported from his family home. He refused to sleep on his old bedroom floor, and perhaps that was for the better, because his room was now used as a glorified shed, with a literal workbench fitted in the vacancy his bed left.

The couch was fine, he reasoned – having his father wake him up every morning with the sounds of the sports channel coming to life wasn’t. Neither was then being forced to have opinions on every single sports team that his father supported.

Family dinners proved the most difficult. Akari was relentless in her questioning.

“Did you come home just because you’re mad at him?” Akari asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a little pathetic.”

“It’s not just that. I needed a break, you don’t know how hectic it’s like there. You don’t know the full story,” Iwaizumi replied, prodding at his rice with the chopsticks.

“Well then, tell me. He’s your best friend, Hajime, you can’t be such a coward to run away at the first sign of conflict. No one said it’s easy to live together, but you have to at least try. Do you think you’re a perfect person to live with?”

“Does anyone want more rice?” his mother stepped in, dropping a pot on the table with a loud bang. “Let’s not argue. It’s nice having the family together after so long!”

Having his mother mediate his problems with his siblings felt too nostalgic for comfort.

Regrettably so, Iwaizumi knew Akari was right. He feels at least a little guilty about running away to his mom and dad. He spoke a big game months before, naming himself mature enough to move out, but clearly wasn’t mature enough to handle an argument without packing for the hills.

And above all, he feels bad.

He hasn’t even texted Oikawa since he left. It’s the longest they’ve gone without speaking to each other since they’ve met, and there’s a Oikawa-shaped absence in his chest. Quite frankly, he’s not sure what he’s going to say when he comes back. What could he say? He’d have to apologize and the thought of that is horrible.

He does have to go back. That much became evident in his time back home. Initially, he did briefly consider quitting everything and hiding out in his parents’ house for the rest of his life – but Iwaizumi had already invested too much of his time and blood to live out his remaining years to the backdrop of his father yelling at tennis scores and helping out at the travel agency.

So, he gives in and asks his father to drop him at the university (because he’d rather die than have to take him up to his apartment) and his father agrees because Iwaizumi gets the feeling his time back home wasn’t all that welcome on their part as well.

“You’re working hard?” is what his father asks him in the car.

And he can’t answer truthfully, because if he was, he wouldn’t have taken two weeks off to emotionally cool off. “I’m trying to.”

His father nods, focused on the road. They drive in silence and it’s the longest they’ve been alone in a long time.

“You’ll always have a place with us, Hajime. But you also need to stop being so weak. That’s not you,” his father says, pulling up outside the university.

It stings, but it stings more because he’s right.

They say farewell and part, and Iwaizumi inhales deeply before walking through the door to the kendo studio. He reluctantly sends a message to Oikawa, informing him that he’s back. He doesn’t wait for a reply and changes into his uniform.

Practice is brutal, his muscles lame after days of inactivity and everything hurts but Iwaizumi stays a few hours extra to catch up on training. Gathering his things, he walks out to find Oikawa. He was waiting for him, leaning back on the opposite wall to the studio, head snapping up the moment he heard the door opening. Iwaizumi thinks that he doesn’t entirely hate him.

“How was home?” Oikawa asks.

“It was okay. I remember it better in my memories,” Iwaizumi answers after a pause. “How was … home, I guess?”

Oikawa’s face breaks into a small smile. “Quiet, without you.”

“I don’t make that much noise to begin with,” Iwaizumi defends.

“But you’re there. To not have you there is quite eerie. I’m just glad no serial killers murdered me while I was gone. Imagine how upset you would have been if I’d died while you were moping at your mom’s house. The last interaction you would have with me, your best friend in the whole world, would have been you yelling! That would have been horrible. You’d have been haunted forever.”

Oikawa’s eyes have that glint that they always do when his imagination runs wild, and Iwaizumi hadn’t realized how much he missed it. He doesn’t stop looking at Oikawa the whole walk home. He hadn’t realized how empty his days were without seeing that smile.

They enter their apartment and it already smells the way it’s supposed to, and the last of Iwaizumi’s residual nerves dissipate. And then, he looks around, and his eyes don’t catch on dirty dishes or strewn clothes.

The apartment is spotless.

(Not quite. On further inspection, Iwaizumi spots a few books haphazardly stacked, some cutlery left on the table, and an empty mug is on the coffee table. But it’s enough.)

Oikawa looks proud, puffs his chest out ridiculously like he’s some kind of bird, and gestures to the lounge. “See? I told you I’d do it later.”

“I’m sorry for doubting you,” Iwaizumi murmurs, his mouth hanging open. The closet is unlocked, and the vacuum pipe sticks out of it – and Iwaizumi has to seriously wonder if Lee Oikawa had actually used the vacuum for the first time since they bought the thing.

Iwaizumi finds his heart filling up, overflowing and he pulls Oikawa towards him, embracing him before he can stop himself.

“I didn’t know you would be that happy to have a clean floor,” Oikawa mumbles against his shoulder, but buries himself deeper in the hug.

It wasn’t about the floor and Iwaizumi hopes he realizes that. It was about how glad Iwaizumi was to be back home, to be back home with Oikawa. But Iwaizumi would never say those words aloud, he isn’t that kind of guy, so he just pulls him tighter against his chest.

Iwaizumi wonders why he doesn’t hug Oikawa more. He’s so soft against him, and the way he nestles in the space between his arms makes Iwaizumi feel as if he was made to fit inside his arms.

And then Iwaizumi realizes that it’s a bit strange to randomly hug his best friend, that wasn’t something he did. Any and all affection was initiated on Oikawa’s part. He disentangles himself from Oikawa enough to see his face.

“Can’t believe you didn’t talk to me for like two weeks. I missed you,” Oikawa mutters under his breath. “You were a real asshole, though. I need to remind you of that.”

“I was.”

“But I was kind of an asshole too,” Oikawa compromises. “And I missed you anyway. Don’t leave again. Take me with you next time.”

“I don’t have any plans on leaving,” Iwaizumi says. “I think I’m happy here.”

“You ‘think’?”

“I know,” Iwaizumi corrects, smiling slightly and the smile replicates itself on Oikawa’s face. It’s like raindrops, the way that his gaze falls to Oikawa’s lips and halts there. He’s processing about thirty thousand thoughts in a single second.

“It’s not the same here without you,” Oikawa says, his voice faraway, as if he’s not sure if his words are actually being spoken and heard. “This apartment… it’s ours. It’s always ours, and when you’re not here, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“I missed you too.”

The air crackles with a different kind of tension, the kind of suspended pressure from a moment months ago when there was a hand caressing a cheek.

Iwaizumi knows the second he crosses this threshold that he’s been toeing for the past few months, it’s a point of no return. And while consciously he hasn’t even entertained the thought, the undercurrent of truth travels in his mind. What he’s denying himself is for the best because he’s not going to get what he wants. He would be making a mistake, he’d be ruining the most important of his friendship, and it would all be because he was weak and indulgent.

But there’s an careless part of him that, despite knowing that, despite knowing all of that, all he wonders is how Oikawa’s lips would feel against his own, how they’d open up underneath him, what he’d taste like.

He just doesn’t quite have the courage to bend down, to make that small movement forward, and he knows that Oikawa would never initiate it, would always wait for him first. Oikawa would always wait, just like he waited in an empty apartment for Iwaizumi to come back.

“It’s late,” Oikawa says, breaking the gaze.

Nothing happens. Iwaizumi tries not to be disappointed.

“You better get your rest. You have so much to catch up on. Be prepared for some late nights,” Oikawa says, casually knocking his fist against Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “I’ll heat up some leftovers from earlier in the week that we can share.”

Oikawa reverts back to his usual persona with such speed and precision that Iwaizumi wonders if he imagined the entire moment. But he knows he didn’t. His heart rate hasn’t settled yet. If Iwaizumi had the courage, he knew he could take the mask off and he would talk, and be real. But Iwaizumi is fearful, and cautious, and doesn’t want to fly too close to the sun.

“Please do, I’m starving,” Iwaizumi says.

So he sits down, and shares the single portion of ramen with Oikawa, and they eat in silence, but it’s a comfortable silence; it’s the silence of two people who’ve made a home of each other. 

September 18

Nearing the end of the year, Iwaizumi never noticed how fast time flew by. He saw the seasons change, he saw the universities and schools open and close, but it was all just background noise to his own daily routine.

He’s frustrated at his own progress, feels like he’s slowing down with age, having to work harder for less, and he’s still wondering when he’ll get his chance.

His mother phones him asking how he’s doing, if he’s seeing any pretty girls and tells him to call her more often. She doesn’t extend the offer to visit home. Iwaizumi can imagine why.

Sparked by his mother, and because he feels like it’s a thing he should do at some point, he goes on a date with Yua. They have lunch together. It’s nice and pleasant in a sort of boring way, and he decides he much prefers her as a friend and she feels very much the same.

When Hanamaki interrogates him about the date, Iwaizumi adds in unnecessary, fake details because Hanamaki likes an interesting story, and Iwaizumi’s life lately has been more boring than ever.

Well, objectively it was boring. To Iwaizumi, it was the plateaux of his existence. He spent all day at the university with his best friend and they’d walk to their home together. They’d eat dinner, watch random videos on YouTube or a drama on TV, and sleep.

It wasn’t quite the wild lifestyle he expected from his early twenties. Oikawa, less so - the party animal streak in him had been reduced to a tame kitty cat. 

“I hear that Kindaichi wants to go to a club tonight. Should we go?” Iwaizumi asks him, more as a formality than anything else. They’re already on the couch, a cup of tea in Iwaizumi’s hand and Oikawa’s feet resting on the coffee table. He’s not in his pyjamas yet, but he doesn’t seem like he’s about to take off the oversized alien t-shirt he’s currently wearing to put on club-appropriate attire.

“Do you want to?” Oikawa answers, curling deep on the couch.

“Do you?”

Oikawa laughs a bit, putting his legs down. “This conversation will go in circles.”

“I suppose I just want to know if you want to go out. We used to get out a lot more but lately we’ve just kind of been staying at home. I just want to make sure you don’t feel like you’re being locked up here,” Iwaizumi shrugs, his hands fidgeting with the couch cushion, feeling oddly vulnerable.

“I’ll come along with you if you like, but Iwa-chan, don’t think that I wish I was out clubbing instead of here. If it’s a choice between Kindaichi’s friends and overpriced drinks, and being at home with you, I’m sad to tell him that you and the couch wins every time.” Oikawa says it so casually, laughing a little at the end. Surely he can’t hear the way Iwaizumi’s heart rate increases.

“Yeah. I feel the same,” Iwaizumi says, attempting to keep his voice measured.

Oikawa rests his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder as he switches on the next episode of Unsolved Mysteries. “Glad that’s decided.”

There’s a warmth in Iwaizumi's heart threatening to spill out of his mouth and run on the lounge carpet. There’s the overwhelming desire to hold Oikawa even tighter, to pull him closer and run his hands through his hair.

And Iwaizumi takes that desire, locks it into the edge of his conscious mind and writes it off as a momentary lapse in judgement that thankfully went unnoticed. Oikawa continues snuggling into the planes of Iwaizumi's arm and the show continues playing.

He falls asleep after a few minutes, still on his shoulder, and Iwaizumi gets lost in the reverie of watching Oikawa's soft sleep-filled face, and most of the night passes as the two nap on the couch, limbs entangled. At some unknown hour, Oikawa wakes up, hair dishevelled and gently shakes Iwaizumi awake, leading him to his room by the hand, still saying goodnight, even though it’s probably close to morning by now. 

September 30

A singularity has no beginning or end, it just exists in its entirety.

Life with Oikawa is very much like existing in a singularity. How could there be a beginning to their story when they were always entwined in each other’s lives? Rational fact would claim that for a large majority of his life he had no idea who or what Oikawa was, or how important he would become – but this truth seemed almost unbelievable in the face of his actual feelings. Memories without Oikawa were like photographs bleached by the sun, so devoid of colour, so unlike the kinds that they created together.

He didn’t choose to become friends with Oikawa. There was no climactic first meeting, no dramatic orchestra that played when they first made eye contact. He just sort of ended up with him. Then, they became inseparable. Shortly afterwards they moved in together. That’s all there was to it. There was no need for a beginning.

If Iwaizumi was fanciful – and he’s not – he would almost think he was destined to meet him. He’s not a man who believes in fate or soulmates but – there’s something different about the way they are with each other, almost melodic in nature like complementary minor and major notes.

It shouldn’t be so easy to fit with someone, it shouldn’t just… happen. There’s supposed to be some kind of build-up, a sustained tension.

Because, it wasn’t always like this, Iwaizumi knows he used to have a life completely ignorant of Oikawa's existence and he didn’t always need anyone back then – but he did now. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too forward to suggest that Oikawa feels the same. Or, perhaps. More.

And he halts his thoughts there. Iwaizumi isn’t fanciful, he doesn’t think there’s some kind of ‘more’ to them.

(But could there be?)

It’s a thought that Iwaizumi never consciously allows himself to dwell on, because thinking leads to hoping – and hoping is quite possibly the most dangerous thing Iwaizumi could do. It’s a rule of his, as long as he ignores the existence of his own thoughts and feelings everything would be fine.

Unconsciously, however, Iwaizumi cannot stop himself wondering any more than he can stop the moon from rising, and in those daydreams and sleepy nights, he wonders about the way Oikawa’s hands always holds his tenderly, how he always remembers his coffee order, about the way he looks at him-

And Iwaizumi stops himself.

Kindaichi nudges Iwaizumi, gesturing to the bartender to slide a glass, handing it to him. “You feeling alright? You’ve been staring into space all night.”

Space is accurate. He’s staring at the vacancy in the seat next to him, and is trying to convince himself he doesn’t miss Oikawa. He’d asked him to come but Oikawa had politely declined –

“I’m not really Konoha’s friend anyway. You have to go though, it’s his birthday! Have a good time, I’ll have an early night. Do try not to get too drunk though - I’m not prepared to open the door for you again,” Oikawa had said, practically shoving him out the door.

It’s ridiculous, it’s been only a few hours since he’d said goodbye, how can he already want to see him again? It’s a Friday night, fair enough, which is ‘their’ day but he’s had Friday nights before without Oikawa. He shouldn’t be moping around like a dog without a home.

Iwaizumi downs the drink Kindaichi gives him. 

“What’s got you so contemplative? Missing your better half?” Kindaichi says, smirking slightly.

“Ha, maybe,” is all Iwaizumi says, focused on the drink in his hand.

Friday nights seem wrong without Oikawa's presence next to his on their couch. He wonders if Oikawa missed him too, even a little. Surely he must. It was past ten, according to the clock above the bar, and he’d make his excuses and leave around eleven after bidding Kindaichi farewell and many happy returns. He wonders if Oikawa will still be awake when he’s back.

And Iwaizumi rebukes himself because he’s breaking his rule, he’s thinking about the possibilities. He blames it on the three drinks he’s had this far – the alcohol frees the confines of his head but not enough for him to act on it. So, all he does is think.

And he doesn’t have much to think about besides Oikawa, he’s just the central point of his existence. He wonders if Oikawa realizes quite the effect he has. Surely, he must have some sort of idea. There are those rare occasions where Iwaizumi sees Oikawa's eyes burn with an emotion he refuses to name and he wonders what he did to cause such a fire, and what would happen if he just would close that distance between them.

But Iwaizumi wouldn’t want to break his rule over something as silly as a little glance. Those moments are just flukes, the consequence of living so intimately together –

But the question remains: what would have happened if one sustained stare lasted a little too long and these singular moments stopped being singular? If they were just: moments.

But he supposes that’s already what they are. It’s by Iwaizumi's own perception that he breaks them down into easily understandable chunks. It’s just so much simpler to ignore a single day than face that hidden reality that it’s not just a single day — it’s every day that he’s caring more and more for the man whose room is just down the hall to the right. 

He doesn’t need to think about that. He downs another drink, and looks away from the empty stool. He gets up, joins the conversation his friends are having, and tries to push every single thought out of his mind because he won’t break his one rule about thinking and hoping.

He isn’t falling for Oikawa.

(But he was.)

16th August

Matsukawa offers to set him up on a date with a friend of his. She’s apparently very beautiful and a charmer.

“I know you’ll like her,” Matsukawa says, nudging his elbow in Iwaizumi’s side.

Iwaizumi refuses. Matsukawa wishes to know why, and Iwaizumi cannot begin to explain the nuances of why he feels emotional fidelity to his wholly platonic roommate, so he settles for: “I’m not in the mood for romance”.

Matsukawa shrugs, and leaves Iwaizumi to his loneliness.

It’s not loneliness, but is it though? He has someone to go home to. He has someone who makes it home. Iwaizumi could never really consider himself lonely.

And as long as he keeps his thoughts in his head, and his mouth shut, nothing ever needs to change, and nothing needs to fall apart. As long as he doesn’t let himself want more. He just has to stick to his rule.

October 12

It becomes increasingly difficult to be so close - and Iwaizumi has taken to having to remind himself daily of the consequences if he succumbs to his silly desires.

As long as it was never physical, it was fine. As long as there was no touching, no feeling, no kissing, he’d be fine. Against his better judgement, he’s starting to accept that he may have emotions beyond what he’d previously thought of his roommate, and if that was the case, all Iwaizumi had to do to avoid disaster was never act on it. Truthfully, it was only for so long he could live in denial about the way his breath hitched when they locked glances. So Iwaizumi forms a new rule, a better one, that will ensure a continued friendship and harmonious household.

As long as it was never physical. It didn’t matter that sometimes he and Oikawa locked glances and Iwaizumi wondered if he’d enjoy being burned by that fire he had in his eyes. It didn’t matter that when they were together, Iwaizumi felt somewhat more complete. Those things didn’t matter. Nothing mattered besides ensuring their friendship went on as normal.

Iwaizumi had self-control, after all, he knew not to play with fire, so he averted his eyes when Oikawa forgot his towel while taking a shower, and he continuously refused his offers to fall asleep on the couch when they finished watching their shows together. Iwaizumi would not succumb to his own weakness, especially in the state he was in.

That’s what he kept telling himself.

But the truth of the matter was that he was weak. Iwaizumi is weak, flawed, and horribly, horribly human and he can’t contain himself. He can’t stop himself when he sees Oikawa struggle, trying to get a tipped-over cereal box from the top of the shelf, his shirt riding up, exposing the smooth expanse of his back. Iwaizumi's innocent intention was to get up from his chair, walk over and help him, that’s all he wanted to do, that’s all he planned.

And then he sees the line Oikawa’s figure makes, and the way his clothes cling so perfectly to his body, and he’s closer now, and now Iwaizumi notices how his hair smells like his signature peach shampoo, and he’s wearing that red shirt Iwaizumi likes so much and he’s just so beautiful and it shouldn’t be this intoxicating and it shouldn’t be so easy to turn him around, press his body flush against the fridge, observe the look of shock in his widening eyes and press his lips to his anyway.

There’s a second, an hour-long second where Oikawa doesn’t respond, his lips still and unresponsive, and Iwaizumi pulls apart, wondering if he had misread everything. He opens his mouth to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, to plead insanity, but then Oikawa’s eyes blaze, his hands finding their way into Iwaizumi’s hair, and he pulls him back to his mouth, licking into his lips and then into his mouth like he’s starving.

All Iwaizumi can think is that it shouldn’t feel this good to kiss him. It shouldn’t – but it does, it unquestionably does and Iwaizumi has Oikawa nearly fastened to the fridge, and he’s glad for the supportive surface, because he’s not sure how much longer he can last on his unsteady legs. He breaks apart for a second to readjust his position and Oikawa nearly whines, pulling him back into an open-mouthed kiss.

Iwaizumi’s hands caress Oikawa’s neck, the hairs at the back of his nape sweeping against his fingertips. Oikawa whimpers something and it’s encouraging Iwaizumi further, kissing deeper, deeper, till there’s no more. His body is burning hot against Iwaizumi's and still he tries to be closer, every gap of air between their forms is just wasted space.

Oikawa tastes sweet. There’s nothing more to be said about it. He tastes like a summer’s day, like honey, like warmth and - sweetness, and brightness and it’s everything Iwaizumi loves about him, and when that thought hits him, he pulls away like he’s on fire – and he feels like it as well.

Oikawa remains against the fridge, catching his breath, staring at Iwaizumi in complete astonishment. He opens his puffed up lips to say something, but only makes a sort of distant, indistinct sound that doesn’t seem like words.

“I…” Iwaizumi attempts.

He gives up.

“I should get to bed,” is what he finally says. It’s barely past eight, and they both realize it. In an attempt to cover his tracks, Iwaizumi adds: “I’m meeting Hanamaki tomorrow morning. Early start. Better get a good night’s rest.” And it’s actually true. It’s an excuse, obviously, but it has a basis in fact. He’s never been happier to have morning plans.

He can still taste him on his lips.

Oikawa nods, speaking slowly. “Yeah. You mentioned that yesterday. Okay. Sleep well. I’ll have my dinner. Have a good time.” He takes the cereal box from the fridge off the fridge – and, oh, all he had to do was stand on his toes. He clutches the box to his chest as he stares at Iwaizumi, his cheeks still pink, lips still red. Still a shockingly beautiful shade of red, and Iwaizumi stops himself from wanting more, from finding out if his lips could turn more crimson than they already are. If Oikawa had wanted to say something more, he doesn’t.

“Yeah.”

He hasn’t even eaten dinner, but Iwaizumi grabs his phone off the counter and walks into his room, not looking back, not sure he’s even able to. 

October 16

Hanamaki is sipping an Americano when Iwaizumi sees him. He waves, a soft smile on his face. “I ordered you a coffee. Two sugars, right?”

None, actually. But Iwaizumi appreciates the gesture more than he appreciates the drink, and he sips it, careful to hide his revulsion at the explosion of sweetness on his tongue.

“How was the wedding?” Iwaizumi asked, vaguely remembering their previous conversation involving Hanamaki’s sister.

“Oh, it was lovely!” Hanamaki launches into an explanation of the happy couple and the wedding hall and the food and the outfits, and Iwaizumi really tries to listen, but Hanamaki’s voice was always too soft for his own good, and he finds himself lost in his own sea of thoughts.

He barely notices when Hanamaki clicks his fingers in front of Iwaizumi’s face. “Hello? Iwaizumi? Are you there?”

Iwaizumi bows his head in apology, returning to reality. “Sorry. Sorry, what were you saying? Something about a wedding?”

“Nice and vague answer there,” Hanamaki replies, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “What’s wrong Iwaizumi? You’re normally a lot more… receptive.”

He takes a sip of his coffee to bide time, but Hanamaki’s inquisitive gaze does not diminish.

“What do you do when you’ve kissed someone you’re not supposed to?” Iwaizumi finally says, eyes fixed on the green straw protruding from his cup.

Hanamaki’s shock is evident from the way his eyebrows shoot up, but he thankfully, at least attempts to keep his voice stable. “I guess that would depend on why you weren’t supposed to kiss them.”

When no further explanation comes from Iwaizumi, Hanamaki presses on: “If it’s your brother’s fiancé, yeah, you’re not supposed to kiss them because like, a thousand reasons. If it’s because they’re dating someone else, yeah, don’t do that either. But I don’t know your situation, Matsukawa and I could spend all afternoon giving different answers based on increasingly implausible scenarios. So tell me: why can’t you kiss them?”

It takes Iwaizumi too long to think of a reason and he has a suspicion Hanamaki picks up on the delay.

“I can’t,” Iwaizumi says, breathing deeply, “because… I shouldn’t. It’ll be difficult, in a lot of ways. For both of us. It will make life more difficult.”

“A difficult life isn’t necessarily the worst thing to happen to someone,” Hanamaki says, tilting the cup to his mouth thoughtfully.

“My life is complicated enough as is. I work hard, Hanamaki. So do you. We don’t have the amount of minutes a given day to waste them thinking about… relationships,” Iwaizumi’s voice catches on the last word.

“Iwaizumi, you’re not inhuman. You’ll have the rest of your life to be kept on a leash. Why would you want to start now?”

Iwaizumi sort of wishes than Hanamaki was more pessimistic. He didn’t want actual advice - what he wanted as he realized now was some kind of authority figure to forbid him, to make him feel bad, to ask for reparation. And Hanamaki was just too understanding for that.

“Iwaizumi, if you know you weren’t supposed to, then why did you kiss them?”

He’s unable to look him in the eye. “Because I wanted to. I really, really wanted to,” Iwaizumi says softly. “I couldn’t stop myself.”

There’s a beat of silence. He lifts his head up and Hanamaki’s gaze is piercingly curious.

“Is there a particular reason why you can’t tell me the full story?” Hanamaki asks, prying, but in the nicest way possible. It’s the doe-like eyes, Iwaizumi thinks, it makes everything he says seem innocent.

“Yes.”

“Mind telling me the reason?”

And Iwaizumi puts his coffee cup down, feeling thoroughly sick to his stomach. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“It did, though. No point pretending it didn’t. It’ll come up eventually.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Iwaizumi…” Hanamaki says, warningly.

He crosses his arms, and gives his head an imperceptible shake. “Just leave it be, Hanamaki. I’ll sort it out.”

Hanamaki drops the topic after that, and talks about the wedding again, and Iwaizumi wonders to himself how long he was planning on pretending it didn’t happen. He made such a good point. Did he really have to kiss Oikawa?

Well, Iwaizumi supposed, he did really really want to.

October 29

Things change in the way that they remain exactly the same. It’s almost strange, Iwaizumi sort of expected the entire world to change – but it didn’t. It was like revolving around a circle, and in the process of turning in its entirety, Iwaizumi ended up back to where he was originally: filled with the same particular brand of inexplicable feelings with no direction that he’s always had, that he wonders if he’ll always have. The planets and moons keep revolving around the sun, and Iwaizumi continues in his perpetual orbit alongside Oikawa.

The fireplace is on, and it's colder than usual for October, and a quiet chill fills the air. It’s been more than a week or two and they still don’t talk about what happened, and as days go by without mentioning it, the moment fades into a memory with knifelike edges. In the amber glow of the flames, it captures Oikawa's cheekbones in a most incredible illumination. Iwaizumi stares, perhaps more openly than he should. He can consciously ignore as much as he wants but his fingertips still prickle with the phantom touch of Oikawa's jawline.

But despite everything else, it’s a Friday night, and they have a set plan for Friday nights that nothing short of a natural disaster would disrupt and they’re in the same position on the couch as they always are, Iwaizumi against the armrest, Oikawa with a cushion under his neck, and the television switched on. Oikawa picked a drama, but they're conspicuously spaced apart, not a breadth of physical contact between them.

So it’s a little different – but it’s also just so much like it always is. He watches the drama, eyes glued to the screen, and roots for the plucky heroine and Iwaizumi finds himself letting his guard down, lets himself just enjoy the usual Friday night plans.

And then, the power cuts out.

The screen switches off with a soft click, and they’re bathed in near complete darkness, save for the dying fire. Iwaizumi stares at Oikawa’s unilluminated figure, uncomprehendingly.

“Did you pay the rent on time?”

“No, I spent it all on a party with wine and hookers and you weren’t invited,” Oikawa says. “Of course I fucking paid the rent, you know I did, that’s the one thing I never forget to do.” He throws his hands up in the air and jumps off the couch. “God, let me check outside the hall, I hope this isn’t going to last long, I was so into that episode.”

While Oikawa opens the door and peeks down the hallway, Iwaizumi picks up his phone. It’s a few minutes to eight, and he’s already comfortable in his spot on the couch, toes curling in the blanket he brought.

“Yup, it’s out for everyone,” Oikawa says. “I wonder what happened. Surely the building management is supposed to inform us if there’re problems?”

Oikawa is right. And, oh, Iwaizumi realizes that’s what he meant to tell him. The letter got shoved in their door over a week ago and Iwaizumi read it and immediately recycled it, reminding himself to inform Oikawa. But he never really got that far, did he, because he ended up manhandling Oikawa against a fridge and making out with him for ten minutes.

“Uh,” Iwaizumi begins. “That’s on me.”

“What exactly do you mean?”

“Building management sent a letter saying they needed to do maintenance. I totally forgot, I’m so sorry,” Iwaizumi smiles sheepishly, raising his hands in defeat.

Oikawa flops to the couch so forcefully he displaces the cushions. “Fucks sake Iwa-chan, we had plans. How am I supposed to know what happens next? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I forgot!”

Oikawa is spread out on the couch like he’s been mortally wounded, his feet dangerously close to Iwaizumi. “If I had known, I could have charged my laptop. We could have gone out. We could have done anything.”

“Let’s just go sleep, honestly,” Iwaizumi suggests. He wouldn’t mind that, he supposes, but damn, it’ll be a cold night.

“I can’t sleep this early, I’ll wake up at fucking 3am.” Oikawa's arms are crossed and he’s so genuinely upset, it’s almost adorable. Iwaizumi then banishes the thought off the side of a cliff.

“We could still go out if you really wanted to,” Iwaizumi suggests.

“I’m in my goddamn pyjamas, Iwa-chan. And, be honest with me, are you really prepared to walk down nine flights of stairs?” Oikawa says. “Remember when the elevator was busted in August and you literally slept in the lobby because you wouldn’t walk up the stairs? I had to bring you cornflakes down in a fucking bowl. The security guard thought you were homeless.”

“It’s nine flights, fucker,” is all Iwaizumi can defend himself with. Oikawa just sighs, sinking deeper in the couch.

The whole building is somehow much quieter with the loss of electricity, and the only sound in the room is the crackling of the fire. Iwaizumi watches it, transfixed, and it’s beautiful the way the flames lick up and down the logs. He almost forgets there’s another person in the room.

Oikawa's presence is brought to his attention when he just casually remarks: "Are we ever going to talk about it? Or are we going to dance around it?"

Panic sparks under his skin but Iwaizumi’s careful in his response.

"Talk about what?" Iwaizumi replies, because old habits die hard, and if stalling was his final defense tactic left, he'd hide behind it until the final bullet fires.

"When you kissed me," Oikawa says, and Iwaizumi swears he sees the softest hint of pink enter his cheeks. Still, his words are raw, unembellished.

Iwaizumi purses his lips. "We should talk about that." It’s the response he’s supposed to say, but he doesn’t really mean it, he doesn’t want to talk about it, he just wants to carry on. Indefinitely.

No further conversation comes from either of them. They sit in silence, focusing on the fire, despite fire not necessarily being particularly interesting. Oikawa is sitting up now, his hands crossed. They both appear to be waiting for the other to break the quiet that surrounds them – but Oikawa was always the impatient one.

"Did you mean to?" Oikawa finally says, after a while. His words resound in the room. “Did you want to?”

"Yes.”

The answer left his mouth before he could think it over. There’s a pause. Iwaizumi considers elaborating, considers denying, he considers so much in that singular moment – and just decides to keeps quiet.

It’s a halted conversation, a push back and a push forth, like the slowest game of chess. It’s some time before Oikawa replies.

"You can say no," Oikawa says softly, and then he turns to Iwaizumi, his eyes are wide and a vivid streak of fear is contained in them. "I won't be mad or anything. If it was a mistake or you regret it, that's okay. Just tell me, then.”

Iwaizumi exhales deeply and attempts to untangle his thoughts. It was not a mistake. Iwaizumi had full intention to do what he did – and he wasn’t exactly sure he regretted it either. It would have been more accurate to say he wished he regretted it, then he’d be able to ask for forgiveness.

When all he really wants to ask is for Oikawa to stop talking and start kissing him again.

“I don't want to have the wrong idea about us… this… everything.” Oikawa says. “If you need to talk, tell me. If you need space, tell me. I’d rather you be honest with me than try and spare my feelings. Just… Let me in your head."

Iwaizumi's head is currently vaulted behind reinforced steel and it would be easier to break out of prison than even attempt to uncover what Iwaizumi is thinking. How silly of Oikawa to think it would be as simple as asking him what he was thinking, it’s like he barely knows him at all.

“I am being honest,” Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa lets out a sound of frustration. “Iwa-chan, what do you want?”

And Iwaizumi's not sure how to answer that question, because the question of what he wants is wrapped in a thousand other details, and buried underneath a thousand other problems. It’s not as simple as Oikawa's making it out to be, and Iwaizumi needs to communicate that to him, he knows he has to. He needs to explain to Oikawa that whatever the thing that’s clawing at his heart is just a foolish passing feeling and that it would be insane to ruin their friendship over it.

But all he really wants to do right now is look at Oikawa, all amber glowed and pink cheeked. He's beautiful, unfairly so, and Iwaizumi has that rare privilege of knowing exactly what he feels like pressed up against his body, and he can’t erase a memory already burned and embalmed into his brain.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa repeats, words disintegrating into the ether as soon as they emerged.

The look in his eyes is heartbreaking. There’s a glow of innocence that surrounds him and it reminds Iwaizumi of someone who’s in front of a speeding car, too late to walk away and all they can do is wait for the pain to hit. It's just… fearful.

And all Iwaizumi desires is to take that look away from him.

“Iwa-chan, don’t feel obliged to spare my feelings or anything. If it was a mistake, just tell me. Just don’t leave me confused, you know I don’t like uncertainty.” He sighs heavily, and his shirt falls lower, exposing his sharp collarbones.

Truthfully, what Iwaizumi wants is to know what he’s supposed to do – and he’d like someone to tell him with specific directions. But no one does and Oikawa’s gaze is downcast, and he seems to be retreating into himself.

The air thrums with tension and Iwaizumi becomes hyper aware of how close Oikawa is to him. There’s barely an inch of space between them. He wondered when they moved so closely together. 

It’s not a rational course of action which Iwaizumi follows, but he blames it on Oikawa for indulging in his desires. How dare he be so courteous and ask what he wants. It’s just so dark in their apartment, it’s just so cold, and he’s just so perfect and the sustained eye contact between them becomes too intimate too fast.

He’s cautious in the way he nears towards Oikawa, pulling him up towards him. In the moment between their lips connecting, Oikawa is looking at him with such unabashed affection, that when they kiss, Iwaizumi’s eyes flutter close because he’s cowardly enough to wish that his actions had no consequences that he could see. He doesn’t want to see the way his eyes light up, the guilt and anxiety he feels inside does not need that particular ammunition against him. Oikawa, and by extension his mouth, is so warm and inviting, and in an instant he overtakes Iwaizumi, pinning his back against the couch, hovering above him, his eyes dark.

"What exactly does this mean, Iwa-chan? You never gave me an answer to that," Oikawa whispers.

Iwaizumi doesn't reply, and figures Oikawa should be used to it by now. He interlocks their hands together and pulls him closer, reuniting their lips. Iwaizumi doesn’t stop to breathe after that, part of it is the fear Oikawa will persist in questioning, but part of it is that he’s just becoming increasingly intoxicated on everything that Oikawa is.

The darkness heightens every sense and he can hear Oikawa's heartbeat when he trails kisses down the expanse of his neck. He inhales just about every part of the man on top of him whose knuckles are brushing against his cheekbones, and whose legs are twining together with his own. They kiss, and they kiss, and they kiss – the fire dies, a dog barks down the apartment corridor, outside a car alarm goes off, but all Iwaizumi hears is the sounds of Oikawa’s lips against his own.

October 30

Lights switch on flooding the room and Iwaizumi forcibly disentangles himself from Oikawa, sitting bolt upright, his legs shaky, his body hotter than the sun. His eyes reduce to slits as they struggle to adjust to the sudden electricity.

“Fuck,” he groans trying to find his phone and attempt to find some kind of grounding in reality after hours in a liminal space of touching in the dark. His jaw hurts.

His phone lies discarded on the floor and claims that it’s past midnight, and there must be some kind of system error, it can’t have been that long, it shouldn’t be that long.

“It’s midnight already, we have to…” he struggles to say as Oikawa falls back against the couch, blinking rapidly.

“Of course, of course,” Oikawa replies, unconsciously licking his lips. “Yeah. It’s… late.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t even look at him while he tries to catch his breath and forget the phantom caresses that still climb up his skin. He makes it to his room, exhaling heavily.

But the thing about everything staying the same is that everything stays the same. And Iwaizumi shouldn’t be surprised when he sees Oikawa linger in the doorway, and it's to say goodnight, like it always is. He leans against the doorframe, a hand running through dark hair.

“Sleep well,” he finally says. He hesitates, looking up at Iwaizumi. A fire burns.

And Iwaizumi reaches out and finds himself pulling Oikawa into his arms, and he fits perfectly. He carefully controls his steps until they fall back on his bed because as he realizes now he’s so, so hopelessly flawed and he can’t stop his indulgences any more than he can stop the sun from rising. And Oikawa is just so sweet, everything about him is so sweet and he kisses Iwaizumi like he’s honey and holds him like he’s something precious.

And all they do is kiss. That’s it but, also, all they do is kiss, and consume each other, and swallow each other whole. Mouths close to lips that slide down Iwaizumi's neck, and they fall asleep, still entangled, and the kissing doesn't really stop. It pauses.

November 5

Later, Iwaizumi struggles to define it. They’re roommates. They're friends. Of course, they’re still friends, they walk everywhere together, they eat out together, they live together. Nothing would change that.

But friends also don't languidly make out for hours, mapping out each detail of the other's faces, gripping their nails in each other's hair, and friends don't whisper each other's name in a voice so tender that it can barely be heard.

It’ll be fine. It’s just kissing.

Iwaizumi is in the middle of a long shower where he attempts to rationalize everything to himself. And that’s his defense, that’s the cause he’s sticking to, that’s what he’s going to use to convince himself he knows what he’s doing. Because it’s just kissing. Everyone kisses. Even kids do it. It’s nothing special.

Is there something special about the way Oikawa kisses him? Yes. Of course it’s special, it’s Oikawa. But that’s alright, because it’s just kissing, it’s just something that happens every now and again. Like when they’re bored, or come home from practice early, or before they go sleep or when they wake up.

He just has to make sure it never goes any further than that. 

November 9

“So, what are your birthday plans, Oikawa?” Kunimi asks, wiping the sweat off his brow with a towel before tossing it to Oikawa. The towel is already soaked but he grabs it anyway.

“Haven’t decided yet,” Oikawa says. “Suppose we could go out Friday night if you guys really want to.”

“Oh, we really do,” Kunimi says, nodding solemnly. “We never go out anymore.”

“It’s because all we do is practice.”

“So? I’m dying for a good night out. My body needs alcohol in it. Come on, Iwaizumi agrees with me, don’t you?”

Iwaizumi, who had been attempting to do his assignment at the back of the studio as he waits for Oikawa’s training to be over, looks up from where he’s sat on the floor. “Yeah, it’ll be nice to go out. It’s been a while.”

“How about,” Yahaba says, his eyes sparkly, “We just come over to your place? We haven’t had a party there yet, and you’ve been there for months, haven’t you? That’s just a missed opportunity.”

Oikawa raises an eyebrow. “Nice of you to invite yourself to my house.”

“Ah, but it’s Iwaisumi’s too, isn’t it? And he’s up for it as he has already said.” Kunimi nudged Iwaizumi, winking. “Come on. It’ll be a good time. Me and Iwaizumi will sort out everything.”

He sneaks a look at Oikawa, and feels a pit coil in his stomach. It became abundantly clear he didn’t want a house party, and Iwaizumi struggled to his feet, attempting to persuade Kunimi otherwise.

But in the time it takes to get his knees to co-operate, he’s already gone, telling the others about the plans for next week, and Oikawa sits on the bench with pursed lips, not exactly jumping for joy.

“I can try and shut it down, if you’d like,” Iwaizumi says, taking the towel from Oikawa and folding it. “I can just spin a lie and say that our apartment was infested by cockroaches. Though, I’m reasonably sure if you keep putting off doing the dishes that will actually happen.”

Oikawa leans his head against the wall. “It’s no big deal, honestly. It’ll be fun, I’m sure, but the idea of having to prepare for company, having to clean up our shit all around the house and buy snacks and stuff? While I’ve got an assessment next week as well? I’m just not really looking forward to it at this moment.” He stretches his arms out. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it when it actually happens.”

“I’ll throw you a good party,” Iwaizumi promises, despite not having thrown a single party in his life. It shouldn’t be too hard, he figures, he’s watched enough teen movies to know the bare minimum requirements: alcohol, pizza, good music, locked bedroom doors.

Oikawa looks up and smiles. “I’ll hold you to that.”

November 18

Kahari is leaning in so close to Iwaizumi that he can smell the acrid alcohol on her breath. She’s been spending at least twenty minutes telling Iwaizumi about her unprompted opinion on Twilight. This conversation was interspersed only with pouring herself more vodka tonics, occasionally offering a glass to Iwaizumi who’d only accept once every three times.

“Your place is really nice,” Kahari says, refilling her glass. “It’s cute. It’s just the two of you, then?”

“Yup,” Iwaizumi answers. “I have the room on the left, Oikawa has the room on the right, and smack bang in the middle is a huge closet that we threw all the shit that was scattered around the lounge into.”

The pulse of dance music runs across the floor. There’s a distinct noise of chatter - not overly loud, but rather nice - a gentle hum contrasting to the basslines from the speakers. Iwaizumi’s drunk enough to have a decent buzz going on, not enough to do embarrassing things like throw up in a taxi - drunk enough to be invested in Kahari’s rant.

He sees the quirk in Kahari’s brow as she gazes at the closet and shakes his finger warningly. “Don’t even try. If you open that thing, you’ll literally get crushed by a vacuum cleaner.”

“Fine,” Kahari sighs. She hops over the island counter and peeks down the hall. “You know, I’m pretty sure you could fit a third roommate in here if you really wanted to.”

“Is someone hinting for a place to live?” Iwaizumi laughs, running a hand through his hair.

“Oh no,” Kahari replies. “I’m happy with my tiny basement apartment. It’s just a friendly suggestion. Even if you manage the rent fine by yourself, the extra income would never be unwelcome.”

“We don’t particularly want anyone else to be honest,” Iwaizumi says. “Oikawa and I are happy with just the two of us. It’s nice.”

“It’s kind of cute, honestly, moving in with your best friend.” She pauses, seems to lose her train of thought, and then picks it up again. “Right, yes, I wanted to ask something I’ve always wondered. I’ve heard that once you live with someone, things can get a little tense. Arguments, bickering about rent and all that. Do you guys get along alright? Has moving in together affected your friendship?”

It would mean nothing to Kahari, but Iwaizumi’s eyes flash to the closet. She can’t have known of course, but it wasn’t even 24 hours ago that Iwaizumi had managed to squeeze the last of the lounge’s clutter into it, locking the door. Oikawa looked at him with those curious eyes of his, a soft smirk on his lips and hopeless, hopeless Iwaizumi pressed Oikawa against the door and licked lines up and down his neck, stopping only when he heard something fall inside the closet.

“Yeah, we do,” Iwaizumi finally says. “The tension is no joke, though. Everything’s a lot more personal when you live together.”

“Intimate,” Kahari agrees, and he unconsciously shivers.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

He’s spared from further questioning by Hanamaki exiting the bathroom, wiping his hands on his jeans, smelling of discount air freshener.

That’s the good thing about a party like this Iwaizumi realizes: when you’re friends with everyone in attendance, it’s easy to evade awkward inquiries about the nature of your relationship with your roommate.

“Iwaizumi!” he exclaims, clapping him on the back. “This is a good party! Man, I’m so glad you hosted this.”

It is a nice party, even Iwaizumi would be arrogant enough to admit that much. Everyone’s laughing and smiling, the atmosphere is light and perhaps Hanamaki was right. They needed this reprieve from the grind of training till exhaustion that repeats till death.

Hanamaki leans down next to him, picking up a half-empty beer can from the floor, shakes it and then takes a sip. Hyerin spots someone waving to her and disappears and Iwaizumi feels oddly relieved to be free of her drunken opinions.

“Well, I can’t take all the credit. This was mostly Kunimi’s doing,” Iwaizumi says. “Only thing I did was prepare the apartment and ask him to not bring tequila.”

Hanamaki lays a hand on Iwaizumi’s shoulder and looks at him earnestly. “Iwaizumi, you truly are a beautiful fool if you think there isn’t a bottle of tequila in Kunimi hand right now.”

He sighs loudly. “I don’t want to clean up vomit off the floor, Hanamaki.”

“Well you can’t make Oikawa do it. That would be torturous,” he says. “It’s his birthday!” Hanamaki pauses. “Where is the birthday boy? I feel like I haven’t seen him in ages.”

“Oh, that’s a good question,” Iwaizumi sees, standing on his tiptoes, peering over the heads. “I think he might be in his room, I’ll go check.”

“I’ll come with,” Hanamaki replies brightly and Iwaizumi shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it. You enjoy the party. I’ll sort it out.” Iwaizumi says, waving his hand.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, of course.”

Hanamaki raises an eyebrow at his obvious dismissal, but Iwaizumi leaves Hanamaki, taking a quick detour to his own room to slip his birthday present in his pocket before knocking on Oikawa’s door and finding it locked.

“Oi, Shittykawa, it’s me.”

The door unlocks.

They don’t often dress up, so the times that they do seems that extra bit special and tonight is no exception. Oikawa had spent an hour picking his tight-fitting clothes, has his hair look good, and the faintest of gloss on his lips. It’s highly tempting, and Iwaizumi swallows when he sees him open the door. Iwaizumi enters his room, closing the door behind him, locking it.

“Are you okay?” Iwaizumi asks. “Enjoying the party?”

Oikawa runs a hand through his hair and sits back on his bed. “I’m fine. It’s a good time, really, but I don’t know. It feels like I’m partied out. It’s 2am. I’m usually asleep by now. My evaluation is in fourteen hours, how am I supposed to relax?”

“I can tell you’re getting old if you want to sleep this early,” Iwaizumi remarks, sitting next to Oikawa. The bed shifts under the change in weight. “Want me to kick everyone out?”

“I’d pay to watch you try but no, no reason to ruin a good time just because I’m being silly.” Oikawa grins. “I’m glad we had this party, though. It was nice seeing all our friends in one space. You didn’t disappoint, even though I was absolutely certain you would.”

“Shut up, Shittykawa.”

“You can’t talk to me like that on my birthday,” he gasps in mock offense.

Iwaizumi sighs, and flops down onto the bed, the soft mattress soothing his aching muscles.  
“Dancing is horrible.”

“Agreed,” Oikawa replies, lying down next to him. “So, are you just here to check I’m alive?”

“Mostly that. The others were worried.” 

“And here I was thinking I made a discreet escape,” Oikawa says. His face looks so soft from this angle, illuminated only by his nightlight. Iwaizumi feels an urge to trace it with his fingertips and that feels far too intimate and he blinks rapidly.

“I’ve got your present with me, actually,” Iwaizumi says, attempting to distract them both from the lingering tension in the air.

“Why, Iwa-chan, I distinctly remember that when you asked me what I wanted, I said I wanted a good night’s sleep, and you’ve given me the opposite of that by allowing your awful music to be played at loud volumes in my apartment at 2am,” Oikawa says, turning to to face Iwaizumi.

“I do recall that, and I felt so bad about the whole thing, I immediately had to arrange for something else,” Iwaizumi replies, and laughs at his own words. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wrapped box.

The gift wrap has the intended effect and Oikawa squeals in delight, tearing the paper off, and opening the box. He stares at the contents uncomprehendingly, and sits up and Iwaizumi replicates the motion.

“What is this?” Oikawa says, removing the ring inside. It’s thin, silver, with an encircled turquoise midpiece.

“I remember you lost your favourite ring in the move,” Iwaizumi says, suddenly deeply regretting his choice of present. He should have just got a gift card. “You haven’t really worn any others since. I tried my best to find the closest match. I hope it’s okay? The midpiece might be thicker than the original, but I looked everywhere and I was only going off my own memory-”

Oikawa’s lips are on Iwaizumi stealing the words from him, one hand cupping his cheek, the other carefully holding the box stable. The kiss is brief, light, and as always – sweet.

“Thank you. I… I’m a little stunned, honestly,” Oikawa says, running his finger around the rim of the ring. “I never expected to see this again. I love this ring, but I can’t believe you even remember it.”

Iwaizumi shrugs. “Of course I did.”

“I wore it the day I met you.” The room grows warmer. “I never expected something like- like this, really.”

“You gave me an apartment for my birthday, idiot. Did you really think I’d get you nothing in return?” Iwaizumi says, quietly.

Oikawa brings his eyes back to Iwaizumi’s. He realizes they’ve very rarely been alone in Oikawa's bedroom, and Iwaizumi shouldn’t be surprised that Oikawa's room is so quintessentially him, but it’s endearing. There’s an open manga on his bedside table and a half-eaten mango fruit roll. His favourite plaid sweater lies on the floor and his pillow smells of his peach shampoo. It’s just unapologetically Oikawa.

When they moved in Iwaizumi remembered the agreement. Oikawa got the bigger room, Iwaizumi got the better view. He doesn’t really care about the blocky houses anymore, he barely looks out of the window. He might actually prefer it here - but that might just be because of the company.

Oikawa hesitantly raises a hand as if to caress Iwaizumi's cheek, but halts himself. He steadies his voice. “Iwa-chan, are we…?” His voice loses traction as he breaks off, shaking his head. “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter. Not right now.”

Iwaizumi has a sinking suspicion on what Oikawa was about to ask him - and it’s a conversation he’d been dreading, but the door handle turns, sparing Iwaizumi for another day.

“Iwaizumi? Oikawa? Are you in there?” It’s Yuda, one of Kunimi’s friend, his voice raspy. “It’s locked.”

“I think they’re asleep?” Hanamaki replies, in what he must have thought was a whisper, but was just a hoarse shout.

“Did they just give up halfway through their own party?”

“I guess.”

“Oh well.”

Iwaizumi pursues his lips, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Should we go…?”

“I mean, if you want to, we can go back out,” Oikawa says. He leans back further on his bed, stretching his arms out against the duvet. “But we don’t have to. We could just sleep.”

“You mean here?” Iwaizumi clarifies.

“Why not?”

He has no objection.

Iwaizumi isn’t even that tired, but sleep means the promise of a goodnight kiss, and sleeping next to Oikawa is a rare pleasure he experienced too few times and that’s motivation enough to crawl under the duvet, caress Oikawa’s face in his hands, and let their lips meet softly, opening up underneath his.

“Happy birthday, Oikawa.”

Iwaizumi's eyes are blurry as sleep absorbs him but as Oikawa buries himself closer in the cavity of Iwaizumi's form, their hands interlock and he feels the cool touch of a silver ring on his index finger.

November 23

Hanamaki delicately wipes his mouth with the corner of a napkin. It blows in the breeze and Hanamaki reaches out to catch it before it flies away. “That place was amazing. Where did you even hear of it? We’ve never eaten Thai together before.”

“Oikawa recommended it to me ages ago, and we went here once. It’s such a gem, honestly,” Iwaizumi replies, sipping on his soda. “I’ve been meaning to come back.”

At the mention of Oikawa, Hanamaki’s walking pace halts briefly.

“Funny coincidence that you mention him, I was just about to ask,” Hanamaki says. “Did he have a good birthday?”

“Mmm,” Iwaizumi considers for a moment. “Yeah. He enjoyed the party, mostly, but he was really tired. He had his assessment the next day, you know, so he was understandably stressed. He did well, though. Proud of him. And he had a fun party, despite everything.”

It’s a cool evening, and the wind is tinting his ears pink, but it’s kind of nice to wrap his favourite scarf around his neck when he goes out. Anything’s better than the crushing heat of the past summer.

“Glad he had a good time,” Hanamaki smiles. “I did as well. Did you?”

Iwaizumi had the very slight inclination that he was being interrogated. “It was nice. Enjoyed myself. Had some good, cheap alcohol and hung out with my friends. Met my expectations for the night.”

“Did you do anything else?” Hanamaki questions, shoving his hands into his pockets. And Hanamaki was someone who liked to know details, but never usually openly pried for information.

“Are you building up to something or are you just very concerned in my party planning capabilities?” Iwaizumi says.

A frown crosses Hanamaki’s face. “Okay, Iwaizumi, I’m just gonna come outright and say it. There’s no point dancing around it. What’s the extent of yours and Oikawa’s relationship?”

Iwaizumi freezes mentally. Physically? He continues walking, continues drinking his soda, and pretends like it’s a pleasant conversation between friends. Which is what it is, he forcibly reminds himself. His body is entirely divorced from his mind when he speaks.

“He’s my roommate.”

Hanamaki exhales. “Iwaizumi, I’m not going to tell anyone, or judge, or anything like that. I’m just genuinely curious what exactly is going on between you two.”

A part of Iwaizumi wants to snap at him to mind his own goddamn business. But the more rational part knows that Hanamaki doesn’t mean any harm. The even more rational part knows that getting defensive will just increase Hanamaki’s own suspicions.

Even now, Hanamaki’s gaze is undeniably inquisitive - but gentle. It’s the doe eyes, Iwaizumi reasons.

“He’s my best friend, Hanamaki. No offense to you, but he’s number one,” Iwaizumi finally says. “That’s all. We’re just friends who care very much about each other.”

“I know that much, Iwaizumi, I think everybody in a hundred kilometre radius knows that. But, Iwaizumi, I’m not blind, you know?” Hanamaki says. “The party last week was the first time in a while I’ve seen the both of you together, and it’s not like how normal friends behave.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” He shivers unconsciously.

Hanamaki takes a deep breath. “It’s hard to put it in words. But I’ve seen you. You move like you’re in synchronization, you effortlessly revolve around each other. And like? He had his hand on your waist for about an hour. How do you not notice that? But, all of that aside, forgetting all of that, what really struck me was the way you look at him.”

“I look at him like I look at anyone,” Iwaizumi rationalizes, attempting to deflate the situation.

“You don’t though,” Hanamaki says, and he’s got a weak smile. “Iwaizumi… the way you look at him. It’s like he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Your face softens and your eyes glow, and it’s just so much affection in a single gaze.”

They turn left at the stop street, bound for Iwaizumi's apartment, and all Iwaizumi hopes is that the ten minute walk gets reduced to about five seconds remaining.

Hanamaki isn’t done either, and it became abundantly clear that the saying that you don’t notice your habits until they’re laid out in front of you is true. “And then when he disappeared, so did you. I even offered to go with you, in case he was sick or something, and you pretty much told me to fuck off. Which is fine, I suppose, but it’s not… it’s not something just anyone does. Iwaizumi, what is going on?”

Iwaizumi looks at Hanamaki, keeping his voice level. “Nothing is going on.” He punctuates each word harshly. He sounds sort of convincing, he thinks. 

There’s an increase in pace now, because all Iwaizumi really wants to do is go home and stop having this conversation. But the road doesn’t miraculously shorten, and there’s only so much more he can lengthen his stride before Hanamaki would point it out.

“Iwaizumi, please, I know I’m not your ‘best’ friend, but I’m close to you, and I care about you and I want to know what’s happening in your life and I want you to trust me enough that I won’t judge you for it,” Hanamaki says, his tone pleading.

“Hanamaki, there’s nothing to tell you, I’m serious. I don’t- there’s nothing between us.”

The wind picks up and he barely hears Hanamaki’s whispered reply. “There’s nothing shameful about having feelings for someone.”

Iwaizumi's voice takes on a harsh tone. “Hanamaki– drop it. He’s just an affectionate person. We’re good friends. That’s it. There’s nothing more to it.” Speaking louder doesn’t strengthen an argument and Iwaizumi now realizes he doesn’t sound particularly convincing at all.

This quietens them both, and they don’t say anything until they’re outside Iwaizumi’s apartment complex. He feels a thread of guilt in his mind for snapping at perhaps the nicest possible person to have this conversation with. The apartment building looks down on them, dwarfing them, and Iwaizumi tightens his coat, the cold hitting him.

“I had a good time,” Iwaizumi says, exhaling. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Okay. I enjoyed myself too, Iwaizumi. Thanks for the food.” And Hanamaki seems sincere. But he doesn’t move even when it’s obvious this is the part where he walks away.

“Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki says, his gaze downcast. “I remember when you asked me what you do when you kiss someone you’re not supposed to.”

“Hanamaki-” Iwaizumi begins, warningly, because he can’t just come out and say it, he can’t, that’s too much, and Iwaizumi isn’t ready for that, if he says it out loud, it’ll be real-

“I think I have an answer,” Hanamaki breathes out, his breath misting. “Figure out if they’re worth breaking the reason why you shouldn’t and take it from there. See you around, sleep well.”

And Hanamaki walks away, his hands in his pockets, and he doesn’t look behind him and Iwaizumi stares at his back until it disappears from his view.

November 27

Iwaizumi’s going to put a stop to this, he decides. It’s not because of Hanamaki’s horrible advice, he’s ignoring that, because what does he know anyway? Of course Oikawa is worth it, if it was just a question of worth, then Iwaizumi's problem would be solved instantly. Oikawa was the single most radiant entity in the universe, if there was anyone undeserving it was Iwaizumi himself. But it’s not that simple.

The thing that Iwaizumi was starting to realize was that people like him ended up being surrounded by these incredible individuals, and rather than uplifting himself, Iwaizumi drags them down to his own level.

What right did he have to just claim ownership of Oikawa because of his own desires? The matter of reciprocation was something else, Iwaizumi should have never started anything to begin with. Still, regardless of his past weakness, he’s made a decision.

The reason he needs to stop is because he’s getting too comfortable, it’s getting too domestic, kissing goodnight daily and seeing Oikawa's face light up is too much and Iwaizumi can’t wean himself off gently. Because this is a drug, Oikawa is a perfect drug and he has to stop entirely. He has to give it all up.

If Hanamaki noticed, it’s just a matter of time until someone less understanding does, until someone sees the way Iwaizumi looks at him, until someone notices that when they sit next to each other Oikawa traces small circles on Iwaizumi’s knee.

Iwaizumi can’t be with someone like Oikawa. It’s just a statement of facts. They’ve got careers, they’ve got futures, and Iwaizumi can’t be responsible for hindering that in any capacity.

Iwaizumi also shouldn’t be with someone like Oikawa. Oikawa, who was kind and caring and bright, deserved someone so unashamed and unabashed in the way they adore him, someone who isn’t afraid of their feelings, who could confidently express their emotions in the perfect words. It’s perhaps just his own misfortune that he unfortunately only has Iwaizumi, who fits none of those criteria.

He’s firm in his decision when he makes it, he’s so sure, because if he ends things now they could still salvage their friendship. It’ll take time, but it’s not fractured beyond repair, not yet.

But Iwaizumi needs to realize that he’s hopelessly weak when it comes to Oikawa. He’s always been, and there’s never been an exception. It’s become intensified lately, as if the more leniencies he gives himself, the harder it is to go back how it used to be. Once tasted, twice as hard to resist.

Later, he’ll wonder why he’s surprised that when Oikawa comes home from visiting a friend and lingers in the lounge, back against the wall, leaning casually, Iwaizumi lasts through about two minutes of exchanging pleasantries before he succumbs and he grabs Oikawa and kisses him deeply, licking into his mouth. If he had a defense, it would be that Oikawa was wearing that plaid shirt, the one he loved so much, that clung to his figure just right. It’s not really a defense, but Iwaizumi supposes he wasn’t really trying to defend himself.

The rational part of his mind screams at him to stop, but he figures this final interaction is fine. One last chocolate before giving up decadence forever. Iwaizumi has him against the wall, hands fisted in that plaid shirt, and it’s just the usual making out and it’s as hot as ever. Iwaizumi has never gotten tired of kissing him. Iwaizumi also wonders why ‘usual’ has become associated with kissing Oikawa. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Oikawa slots a leg in between Iwaizumi's and that’s venturing into dangerously tempting territory. Their pelvises are close together, and the pressure in his groin intensifies. But then, Oikawa extricates himself from the kiss. “Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whispers, voice hoarse, looking thoroughly debauched.

“What’s wrong?” Iwaizumi whispers back, fingers not moving from their place cupping his neck.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just…”

“Tell me.”

Oikawa's gaze darkens and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. “Fuck me. Please.”

Iwaizumi’s mind crashes to a halt. “What?”

Oikawa repeats himself and it doesn’t help Iwaizumi’s understanding any more. It was his rule, it was the final rule that still remained intact, he can’t-

“Please, please, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa is babbling, running a hand up and down the planes of Iwaizumi’s abdomen, igniting the skin wherever he touches. “I can’t take it anymore. Please fuck me. I’ll make you feel good. I’ll beg if that’s what you want from me, I don’t care, I need you-”

And Iwaizumi wants to, of course Iwaizumi wants to, he’s been feeling up Oikawa for the past few months, and in the few times that they’ve tilted too close to each other, it sends a wave of pleasure through him that just makes him want more, but it always ends abruptly by Iwaizumi’s own decision. Because of his rule, because it’s the one thing Iwaizumi still has to his name that he hasn’t compromised. And it’s been mercilessly difficult trying to stick to that singular rule. Kissing is never enough, if Iwaizumi is to be honest, not when it’s Oikawa he’s kissing.

But it’s his rule. It’s the last one Iwaizumi has left, the last lifeboat on a sinking ship. After this, there’s no going back, it’s going to end badly, Iwaizumi knows that much –

But he also knows Oikawa is standing in front of him, his head buried in Iwaizumi’s shoulder blade, his fingers dancing around the waistband of his pants, lips swollen and pouted and he looks absolutely irresistible. And Iwaizumi doesn’t know if he has the strength to say no. “I can’t wait any longer, it’s been months, I need you.”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, licking his lips. “Are you… are you sure? Are you entirely sure?”

He looks up at him with dark, dark eyes. “Please.”

“Oikawa…”

His hands crawl up to Iwaizumi’s face, holding his cheek. When he speaks, his tone has a hint of fear. “Do you not want me?”

It breaks the fragile thread of control Iwaizumi still had because despite everything and anything, and months of rules and denials, he can’t deny Oikawa at his most basic questions. “Always,” he answers, his mouth dry. “I’ve always wanted you.” More than anything else he’s ever wanted.

He clashes their mouths together, and there’s a new harshness to the way Oikawa kisses him, it’s deeper and more desperate. Oikawa steps back, holding on so tightly, as if worried someone would try to separate them as he tries to navigate them to his room.

Iwaizumi’s clothes were discarded before they even walked in the door, and he didn’t miss the sharp intake of breath Oikawa gave upon seeing his body. It’s nothing inherently new, they’ve showered together before – but everything is new when in this light, and the light in this instant is the fading rays of sunset splaying out on Oikawa’s bare thighs. 

It’s good. It’s too good. It’s better than Iwaizumi had ever dreamed of, to have Oikawa underneath him, pliant and moaning, nails digging into the skin on his back. He’s loud and demanding in the when and way he wants Iwaizumi, and he’s finding himself more than a little crazy about this side of Oikawa. He’s so clear about what he desires and Iwaizumi is rather pleased that he himself is included in that list.

It’s hypnotizing when Oikawa whines at Iwaizumi to enter him already, and he can’t be blamed for being distracted. In this state, he’s a gorgeous display that Iwaizumi could stare at for hours, but Oikawa had already complained about fingers not being enough, and he presses the nails piercing into his back harder and Iwaizumi tries to regain the ability to move his muscles. They set a rhythm and it’s almost like it’s one of those nights where they practice so late and their bodies are so tired that they don’t speak, they just move.

They just fit perfectly, it doesn’t even seem like they’re separate, there’s no end or beginning, it’s just heat and passion and it just feels so, so good.

Iwaizumi attaches a new addendum to his rule as he watches in mute wonder as Oikawa reaches his climax. It’s fine if they fuck, as long as it was nothing more than physical pleasure. Iwaizumi has to make that addition to his rule because now that’s he’s seen what he's like, he won’t survive if he never gets to experience it again.

He breaks the rule as quickly as he makes it. In the moment after he comes, instead of pulling out and taking a shower alone and coping with the consequences of what he’s just done, he just pulls Oikawa in for a kiss, a tender brush of lips, caressing his face with his hands, and he doesn’t stop. He proceeds to press sloppy kisses on his forehead, his nose, his chin and his cheeks until Oikawa giggles, swatting him off.

“Stop being so sappy, god, if I knew you’d have enjoyed it this much I’d have offered ages ago,” Oikawa says, but he’s smiling brighter than the sun. He’s naked and sweaty with swollen lips – and he looks beautiful.

Iwaizumi hesitates as he hovers above Oikawa, reasonably certain he should leave, but as he tries to Oikawa pulls him back in and kisses him again.

He doesn’t mean to, and he knows he shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t –

But he falls asleep there, next to Oikawa, tangled in him. He doesn’t think he can leave even if he tries.

November 25

Iwaizumi updates the things he’s learnt about living with Oikawa.

He likes to watch romance movies and romance dramas, likes to root for the ‘best friend’ in the shows, and Iwaizumi tries not to overanalyze it like he overanalyzes everything.  
He hates having to wait for a shower, and would rather wake up early than have to wait for Iwaizumi to finish.  
He hums to himself. (A lot.)  
When they’re so deeply entangled inside and around each other, Iwaizumi's mouth sucking on any part of skin he can get his hands on, languidly swiping up and down with his tongue, Oikawa’s moans are so loud, Iwaizumi wonders if there have ever been noise complaints. It might be his second favourite sound.

December 4

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa calls out while the pads of Iwaizumi’s fingers brush across his collarbones. Their hips are rocking together, not quite grinding, but nothing near the realm of innocent either. “Your mind looks miles away. What are you thinking about?”

He’s thinking about the contrast of Oikawa's burning hot skin and the cool metal of the ring he wears that brushes over his flesh. Iwaizumi isn’t really thinking though, this is just pure feeling, operating with no conscious thought behind it. He says exactly what’s on his mind with no embellishments. “I like when you wear that ring.”

Oikawa halts his movements. “Why?” he asks, curiosity evident, tightening his legs around Iwaizumi's thighs.

And Iwaizumi really doesn’t think when he just effortlessly and truthfully answers: “I like seeing you wear something I bought you. I like the idea of knowing it’s because of me. It’s like a little silent reminder to everyone else that you’re mine.”

Oikawa's eyes darken and he bites his bottom lip, pulling Iwaizumi closer. He assumes it’s a kiss, and his lips are already parted – but then Oikawa leans to his ear, whispering airily: “Are we dating?”

Iwaizumi, ever the rational, instantly recoils, stepping back from his position above Oikawa on the island countertop. He splutters loudly as he stumbles onto solid ground, attempting to adjust to the sudden change in gravity.

Oikawa hops off the countertop, with much more grace, and looks at Iwaizumi inquiringly. “That was a very intimate thing to say.”

Iwaizumi merely stares ahead, blinking rapidly. “I… I guess. Was I not supposed to say it?”

Oikawa's face softens. “You’re not supposed to say anything, and the fact that you did makes me happy but… Iwa-chan, we need to talk about what exactly is going on between us, because I don’t know if I can still walk away from this like you can.”

Walk away? Iwaizumi's hands fidget with themselves. Was he being dumped? Well, that was ridiculous, they weren’t ever together. “I...”

“I’ve said before that I won’t pressure you, and I won’t, but I feel like I need to know how you interpret this. Every time I try and ask you, you never give me a direct answer. And I need one Iwa-chan, even if the answer is no. Because this,” Oikawa gestures to the two of them, “is becoming a habit. And it’s one I’m becoming increasingly fond of. Iwa-chan, are we together?”

And Iwaizumi who had thought about this for many long showers, had still not come up with a decisive answer, and Oikawa’s unflinching eye contact only heightened his anxiety. Every attempt he tried at organizing his feelings felt like he was just shoving them further and further to the back of his mind.

“I don’t know.”

Oikawa just looks disappointed. “You can’t keep telling me that, it’s not an answer!” His hand covers his mouth, as if shocked at his own words. “I can give you time, if that’s what you want. I can also give you space. But you also need to just tell me if this means nothing to you so I can sort out what it means to me..”

“I’d tell you if I knew,” Iwaizumi pleads. “I don’t know what I’m feeling or thinking, and I can’t figure it out, I’m just… very taken with you.”

Oikawa steps back, buttoning his shirt. “If this is just physical to you, Iwa-chan, that’s… well that’s fine for you. But it’s not for me, Iwa-chan, it’s never been.” The pain in Oikawa’s voice is vivid.

And Iwaizumi hesitates – because as long as he knew Oikawa, it always seemed as if he understood the tangles in his mind better than Iwaizumi himself did. And maybe like all the other times, Oikawa was right again. What if it really was just physical? Could Iwaizumi have just been hopelessly struck by his beauty and couldn’t control himself and his cowardly desires? And the more he thinks about it, the more it seems plausible. It’s the only possible explanation for why he couldn’t just get himself to stop.

“Do I mean something to you, Iwa-chan? Do you care about me beyond my role as your friend?” Oikawa asks.

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

When Oikawa speaks, his tone is harsh – but sad, there’s such a deep and palpable sadness in his words that it sinks to the ground. “Get back to me when you do, then.”

He pushes past Iwaizumi as he goes to his room, and slams the door. A moment later, it locks. Hesitating outside his door, Iwaizumi wants nothing more than to be able to knock and talk to him, but he has no idea what to say, not when there was a possibility Oikawa may have been entirely correct about everything.

His mind still reels from the whiplash, the contrast from having moments before, pinning Oikawa underneath him on the countertop, licking vertical lines up and down his neck and now being reasonably sure he may have set an irreparable fracture in a friendship once crystalline.

Oikawa doesn’t leave his room and Iwaizumi cannot pretend to be surprised.

December 7

Friday nights become a much lonelier affair.

December 10

“So, what’s the New Year’s plans?” Matsukawa asks and from the way he looks at Iwaizumi, he’s already fearful at what Matsukawa is concocting.

“I’m almost certain we’ve got other things to do than party,” Iwaizumi is quick to say. Matsukawa laughs.

“Of course we don’t. It’s New Years! So, I propose: New Year’s Party. Your place.”

“That’s a big no from me,” Iwaizumi says, picking up his bottle of water. “We had a party literally last month.”

“It’s the New Year. It’s bigger than all of us. Come on, it’ll be fun. You won’t even have to lift a finger, I’ll ask Hanamaki’s contact for the champagne, we can order pizza again and Kunimi will handle the music. Please?”

Iwaizumi pursues his lips. “Matsukawa, I don’t know. I just thought I’d watch something on TV.”

A cunning glint enters Matsukawa eyes. “You know it’s your birthday a few months after the new year.”

“Really? I had no idea. Thanks for letting me know.”

Jinwoo ignores the sarcasm, mopping his neck with his a towel. “If we have a party for New Year’s, I won’t bother you about your birthday plans. We can do whatever you want. Or nothing at all. I won’t pressure you at all. If all you want is a text, that’s all you’ll get. All your rules.”

And, oh, that’s tempting. Iwaizumi really wouldn’t mind going over to Matsukawa’s house on his birthday and playing video games on his flat screen. 

“I don’t know, Matsukawa, you’ll have to ask Oikawa. It’s his place too, you know,” Iwaizumi reminds him.

Matsukawa shrugs. “Can’t you ask him? He likes you more.”

Iwaizumi had reasonable certainty that Oikawa absolutely hated him. They could barely be in the same room anymore, Oikawa spending more and more time staying late at practice and in his bedroom.

“Matsukawa, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Iwaizumi says, fidgeting with the bottle in his hand. “Can’t we just go out somewhere-”

Oikawa, passing by on his way to the bathroom, gets intercepted by Matsukawa who grabs him by the arm and pulls him in front of Iwaizumi. He tries not to crumple at the way Oikawa's face takes on an expression of what could only be described as disgust when he faces Iwaizumi.

“Iwaizumi has a favour to ask,” Matsukawa kindly prompts, patting Oikawa on the back before scooting away.

Oikawa waits, expectantly, arms crossed.

“Uh, do you want to host a New Year’s Party?” Iwaizumi says, wondering when it became so difficult to say a single sentence to his best friend.

“Do whatever you want, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa replies. He turns on his heel but Iwaizumi jumps to his feet.

“Oikawa, wait, just-” he breaks off. “What do you want?”

“Iwaizumi, I have made it abundantly clear what I want. I think it’s you that’s having the problem with that. Enjoy your party.”

All Iwaizumi can do is watch him close the door and leave.

December 13

Iwaizumi wonders how he could be so physically close to him, barely a room away, but feel like they’re on opposite sides of the universe.

December 23

Iwaizumi misses him. That’s the naked truth of it, that’s the centre of everything, it’s the void that Iwaizumi tries to fill with the university, with friends, and with shows. He tries everything, and nothing fills it, and Iwaizumi wonders if he’ll just have to learn how to live with the emptiness.

Oikawa barely looks at Iwaizumi, and when he does, his eyes are filled with a despondency that Iwaizumi cannot begin to comprehend. They barely talk, and when they do, it’s just basic conversation over rent and grocery shopping.

All Iwaizumi wants to do is bring him into his arms and take away that sadness, but Iwaizumi is a flawed man, and Iwaizumi is ultimately, a coward and he doesn’t think he has the words possible to fix a situation so hopelessly bent and broken.

His own pain he could handle. It was Oikawa's pain that he couldn’t - his wonderful, shining Oikawa, who paces around the apartment like a ghost, who wakes up early and sleeps late, just to avoid seeing Iwaizumi at mealtimes. It physically pains his chest because it’s his fault, and he knew this would happen and he went along with it anyway, and it’s all because he’s just so weak.

If he knew what to say to take away his hurt, he would. But Iwaizumi doesn’t. 

He’s too weak to even have the strength to walk down the corridor.

December 31

“Glass of champagne for the host?” Hyerin says, holding out a glass. “On the house!”

“Why would I pay for alcohol at my own house party?” Iwaizumi replies, taking the glass anyway.

It’s his second drink of the night. He’s had a surprisingly sober New Year’s Eve, nothing necessarily preventing him from drinking but nothing necessarily prompting him to either. He supposes he could use alcohol to avoid his problems, but Iwaizumi also feels like he deserves to feel bad, because it’s all his fault that things ended up in this mess anyway.

Oikawa had emerged from his room at around eight, conversed happily as he always did, and Iwaizumi lost sight of him when he was roped into joining a round of Mario Kart.

It’s nice seeing all of Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s friends gathered at their house. There are a few people from the university, friends of friends, and overall it’s certainly a larger affair than Oikawa's birthday party, but Matsukawa took his hosting duties seriously. The air is light and Iwaizumi tries to enjoy himself.

Time might be an illusion, but the idea of starting a new year is one that’s highly appealing. Iwaizumi rests against the hallway closet, and catches the eye of Hanamaki. He’s busy talking to some girls, but upon seeing Iwaizumi, he tilts his head to the side questioningly, and it’s abundantly clear he’s wordlessly asking where Oikawa is. And Iwaizumi realizes he doesn’t know and figures he should find him, to at least keep him in his sight.

Oikawa is, surprisingly, not in his room like he expected. When Iwaizumi opened the door, he ended up becoming an unwilling voyeur to Kunimi’s heated makeout session with a girl at the university, and immediately stepped back, closing the door behind him with more force than necessary.

Feeling the overwhelming urge to clean his hands, he makes a mental note to do the laundry (and also tell Matsukawa to fuck off next time he wants to throw a party). He enters his own room, wholly preoccupied with fetching his hand sanitizer and nearly jumps back when he finds Oikawa sitting on the floor next to his bed, a glass in one hand, and one of Iwaizumi’s poetry books in the other.

“This shit is deep, you know? Like these are real feelings,” Oikawa says when Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow in question.

“Yeah, I know right? Poetry does that,” Iwaizumi says conversationally, reaching for the bottle on his desk. “What are you doing in here and not out there?”

“Came to borrow a phone charger because my room got taken over and got kind of distracted,” Oikawa shrugs. “Where do you have time to read all of these?”

It’s not uncommon for Oikawa to turn up in Iwaizumi’s room, just casually lying on the floor or making himself at home on the bed, picking up whatever book is on his bedside and skimming through it. It was, of course, uncommon now.

There’s such domesticity to seeing Oikawa back in his room that Iwaizumi struggles to keep the emotion out of his voice.

“I haven’t in a while,” Iwaizumi says, slightly melancholic. “But it’s good to have them there if I ever want to read a specific poem. If I’m ever in a particular kind of mood. It’s nice.”

Oikawa juts out his bottom lip and nods, considering. “Yeah, I get that.” He pauses. “Lots of poems about love.”

“It’s a topic worth writing about,” is all Iwaizumi diplomatically responds.

Iwaizumi's eyes pinpoint the remaining champagne in the glass in Oikawa's hand. “Are you drunk?”

Oikawa looks up at Iwaizumi and gives a smile devoid of any joy. “Iwa-chan, I am so horribly and horrifically sober that I wish I was.”

“Ah,” is all Iwaizumi can say.

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” Iwaizumi says, rather abruptly wishing he was. It’s the first time they’ve been alone in a room in a month and Iwaizumi is unsure how to navigate the now unfamiliar territory. “No, I’m not.”

“Do you want me to leave your room?” Oikawa asks after a while. They both are unmoving.

“No.”

It’s nice seeing him back in here, even under the circumstances.

Iwaizumi takes the fact Oikawa hadn’t left yet as an invitation to sit down, across from him, his back against the wall. He looks good, his hair done, his shirt ironed – but there’s a hollowness in his eyes that may be unnoticeable to everyone else, but Iwaizumi has become so attuned to the nuances of Oikawa's face that it strikes out to him.

“Are you enjoying the party?” Iwaizumi asks, avoiding silence by any means possible.

“Truthfully I’m not, but I think you knew that,” Oikawa replies. There’s a sharp edge to his words and it lacerates Iwaizumi with every syllable.

Iwaizumi runs his hand through his hair. “Look, I know we should... probably talk.”

“You know what, Iwa-chan? We don’t have to.” Oikawa almost seems to be laughing. “You don’t actually have to talk about this at all to me. You know why? Because in a few months your lease expires, and you’ll finally be free, and isn’t that exactly what you want?”

There’s genuine hurt in Oikawa’s voice. “You can move out and move in with Hanamaki or Matsukawa or even just go back home and never come back. You don’t have to deal with me anymore, because I know I had to make everything difficult for you. You just had this beautiful plan of your life and knew exactly who you were and then I came around and I messed everything up and you suddenly had all these unfamiliar emotions and desires and it’s all my fault for awakening this in you to begin with.”

“Oikawa... Oikawa, no. No, that’s-” Iwaizumi breaks off, his heart threatening to fragment into shards. “I don’t want to move out. Why would I want to leave? Why would you think that?”

This was his home, this tiny apartment with its horrible hot water capacity and its nine flights of stairs, was his home. And Oikawa, with his humming and his dinosaur-shaped cereal and his dirty dishes was his home as well.

“What do you mean ‘why would I think that’? You’ve given me no evidence to suggest otherwise!” There’s a hint of anger in Oikawa’s voice and his eyebrows furrow. “The last time we had a genuine conversation was for you to have this party here, and I certainly didn’t want it, but you did. And I suppose that was enough for me because I’m so far gone that even when I’m incredibly hurt and angry at you, I still want you to be happy. I still want to give you what you want.”

The music pulses through the floorboards. Iwaizumi can feel the vibrations in the silence that lingers in the air.

“Tooru, I wasn’t trying to avoid you,” Iwaizumi finally says. “And I don’t want to leave.”

“You have barely spoken to me in a month,” Oikawa states.

Iwaizumi gazes at him, despairingly. “I thought that’s what you wanted! You haven’t tried to spend time with me either!”

“Because it hurts, Hajime, it genuinely hurts to have to look at you,” Oikawa says, dropping his gaze. “It hurts looking at you right now. I’ve missed you so much and the very notion is incredible considering I see you daily, but you’re worlds apart from me right now.”

He missed him. He actually missed him. The void in his chest threatens to engulf his entire ribcage. 

“I miss you too,” Iwaizumi says. It seems so childish, too simple to say but it’s the unembellished truth.

“Not enough to even apologize to me, though?”

Iwaizumi fixes his gaze on a corner of the wall. The wall is marred with a black mark and he recalls the incident which led to it: Oikawa tripping over an electrical wire and a lamp crashing into the wall. Oh, Iwaizumi remembered realizing, there goes the security deposit.

He wonders if Oikawa even remembers it.

“I wouldn’t know what to say to you,” Iwaizumi says. “I have a lot to apologize for and I don’t know where I’d start.”

“It’s just so quintessentially you to say nothing rather than say something you deem as imperfect. I don’t actually care if your words aren’t as good as you think they should be, I care that you say them.” There’s a hint of humour in Oikawa's voice but it disappears as quickly as it appeared. “You really are a very consistent man, aren’t you?”

“To a fault,” Iwaizumi replies, staring at his hands.

“All I ever asked was that you didn’t confuse me and that’s exactly what you did.” Oikawa’s tone is soft. “I don’t blame you if that’s what you’re worried about. I think I’m more angry at myself for foreseeing this possibility of heartbreak happen, and going along with it anyway, encouraging it.” Iwaizumi looks up to see Oikawa biting on his thumbnail. “But I didn’t care, I just liked you so much and I didn’t care if it was just a passing experimental phase for you - and that’s what I assumed it was. But then you slept with me, you actually took me to your bedroom, not to fuck me but just because you wanted me there. So then I thought that maybe there was something more that you were just trying to figure out?”

The champagne in Oikawa's glass threatens to spill out, and Iwaizumi instantly becomes worried that it’ll fall on his bedding, and then nearly laughs at his mind’s own horrible attempts at distraction.

Oikawa pauses as if sensing Iwaizumi’s discomfort and places the glass on his bedside table, out of danger. “But if there was, you never showed it. It was just about the making out. So, right, I reasoned to myself you’re just in it for the sex, which is fine, we can be friends with benefits and I won’t end up having my heartbroken, that’s my delusion for the day. But that theory gets thrown out of the window too, because you wouldn’t even lay your hands on me until I had to literally beg you to fuck me. You’re just a mass of contradictions and I’m so lost in your maze.”

“It was never just about anything,” Iwaizumi exhales. The mark on the wall is glaring at him, judging him. Iwaizumi resolves to paint it in the new year. “When it’s you… it’s just everything. It’s just so much that I don’t think I could begin to quantify it.”

He feels a presence and Oikawa lays a hand underneath Iwaizumi’s chin, gently tilting it towards him until they’re making eye contact, unflinching direct eye contact. His skin ripples at the contact of Oikawa's gentle fingers. “Hajime, what am I to you? What was all of this? I kept telling you, if you didn’t feel the same, it was fine, if it was a mistake, it was fine but all you ever did was tell me you meant it. You must hate me if I’ve ended up pressurizing you into anything. I just don’t understand.Hajime, please, tell me.”

And Iwaizumi’s thoughts coil itself tighter and tighter and guilt grips his throat as he realizes how selfish he was, how selfish he’s always been, how throughout everything that happened over this past year, the only thing that really shines is his own personal weakness.

And that’s just the antithesis of Oikawa whose strength shines, whose positivity shines, who just shines in general and Iwaizumi is just everything but that, and not for the first time, Iwaizumi thinks he didn’t deserve to have a fraction as much of Oikawa's heart and time. And that cowardice that has made a home in the recesses of Iwaizumi’s mind tries to find a reason that he should delay this conversation, or make up some excuse-

But he can’t. Not while Oikawa looks at him with eyes full of confusion, not while Oikawa genuinely believes that Iwaizumi must hate him. Nothing could be further from the truth.

“You can move out. You can leave this apartment and look, I know it’s my fault because I had to go and just end up having all these feelings, but you just have to give me some time, a few months, and we can go back to being friends like we used to. Then it’ll be good, again! We can still hang out and eat dinner together, and watch dramas together like we used to!” Oikawa's words are so rushed, as if every breadth of silence is one that immediately needs to be filled. “Iwa-chan, just say something, you haven’t really said anything and I don’t think I have any words left.”

A singularity has no beginning or end, it just exists as a state of infinity. Iwaizumi isn’t sure exactly about the extents of the physical nature of infinity, but he realizes now his feelings come mathematically close.

“Tooru, I am conflicted, terrified even,” Iwaizumi says as Oikawa’s hazel eyes stare into his own. “I should not be as completely enraptured by you as I am yet at the same time, I wonder how I wasn’t from the moment I saw you. I don’t really believe in fate, but there has to be some reason why I feel like I’ve been drawn into you. I feel like with you I’m always hurtling forward to a point and I think it’s this one here.”

“You’ve said that before,” Oikawa says, turning his head to the side, eyes widening. “You’ve said those exact words before.”

“Really?”

“I didn’t quite believe you then,” Oikawa says. “I don’t even think I understood you.”

“Then I’m sorry for confusing you, but do you believe me now?” Iwaizumi asks. “Because it’s true, Tooru, I just...” the words catch on his lips. And then he starts thinking about a thousand possible ways to get out of this conversation, on how to end this uncomfortable tension, on how to continue being a coward.

And then, quite suddenly, he decides to stop thinking. And he says exactly what’s thrumming through his heart and through his veins in that moment, and what honestly has been thrumming through his mind for about a year. “Tooru, I’ve fallen completely in love with you and I don’t know what to do about that.”

The world stops spinning and the words that came out of Iwaizumi's mouth surely couldn’t have come from Iwaizumi. But, god, of course, it makes sense, it all makes perfect sense, he was just so completely in love with Oikawa this entire time, he’s been in love with him for so long, and he didn’t even recognize it. And, oh, that’s why he could never stop himself, that’s why he kept breaking his silly rules, he was just so hopelessly taken with him. How stupid, stupid, stupid of Iwaizumi not to realize he’d become hopelessly enamoured with the boy down the hall.

Iwaizumi realizes he didn’t even a chance. How stupid he was to think he could ever resist falling for him when Oikawa was always so perfect and beautiful and bright and so full of love.

The corners of Oikawa's eyes glisten. “You love me?”

“I love you,” Iwaizumi repeats, slowly, carefully, testing each syllable across his mouth. It fits. It fits perfectly.

“You love me?” Oikawa repeats, his voice cracking. “You actually love me? You’re in love with me?”

“I am.” His voice fills the room. “I’m sorry for taking so long to realize it- but, oh, I really do love you, don’t I? Oh God, I didn’t know. Oh God, someone should have told me.”

“Iwa-chan, all I ever wanted was to not be confused and that’s all you did to me!” Oikawa scrunches his forehead and swats him on the shoulder. “Asshole! You didn’t have to take so long to realize this, did you?! Oh God, you dumbass, could you not have figured this out months ago?!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi says gripping his hands in his own, closing over them like they’re something valuable, bring them to his lips. He runs his thumb over Oikawa’s thin fingers, bumping at the ring he wears on his index finger - oh, he still wears it - and his hands are so soft. “Tooru, I’m so sorry for causing you any pain at all, but trust that I’m less of an idiot than I was a moment ago and less of a coward than I was an hour ago.”

“And what could have possibly in changed in that time?” Oikawa replies, staring deeply and intently in Iwaizumi's eyes.

“You spoke to me. Even though you said it hurt to look at me, you still spoke to me. You told me that even if I broke your heart, you’d still want me in your life. Oikawa, you’re so strong,” Iwaizumi says, the words feeling foolish when he says them out loud. He presses a gentle kiss on their hands and Oikawa shivers, his breath unsteady.

“I don’t think people usually say that about me,” he replies, standing up, their hands still interlinked, pulling Iwaizumi up with him. The fondness in his eyes is immeasurable. “Was that why you were acting like such an idiot?”

“Yes. I’m just really, really stupid and you’re just so…”

“Persistent?” Oikawa suggests.

“Perfect.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen. “You really like me, don’t you? You really do?”

“More than I should,” Iwaizumi whispers, leaning in and he hesitates - but then he sees the way Oikawa’s eyes flutter closed and a smile grows on his face. He cups his face and brings their lips together. Oikawa melts in the kiss, throwing his arms around Iwaizumi, pulling him tighter, inhaling him. The party carries on in the room next to them, the music keeps playing and the new year approaches, and all Iwaizumi cares is the way Oikawa holds him, smiling up at him before pulling him in for another kiss.

It’s sweet. It always is.

January 1

“Happy New Year, Iwai- oh!” Hanamaki breaks off, hastily leaving the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Breaking away from the tender way Iwaizumi holds his jaw and the soft tickle of his kiss, Oikawa calls after: “Happy New Year, Hanamaki!”

June 10

Iwaizumi’s birthday present is a crowded room.

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about. We end up sleeping in my bed every night, and every morning we waste time trying to get the clothes out of your room but your jeans is under my bed, and somehow there’s underwear on the microwave, and no one can find their shoes and that’s just kind of too stressful for early mornings,” Oikawa is rambling, his hands fidgeting. “So I was thinking I’ll rearrange some closet space, give away my old manga so there’s a few free shelves, we can move your dresser in, and this could just kind of become… our room.”

Oikawa waits for a response but none comes. “Of course, we don’t have to! I understand if you still want your space. But if you move here you can still have it! Like don’t throw away your poetry books or anything, you can still keep your room. It’s just…”

He trails off, focusing his eyes on a spot on his bedroom floor. It’s so rare to see Oikawa shy that Iwaizumi resists the urge to hold him tightly and squeeze him like he’s an adorable plush toy. Instead, Iwaizumi lays a hand on his shoulder, a gentle encouragement. “It’s just what?” Iwaizumi prompts, his voice soft.

Oikawa wills the courage to look at Iwaizumi and he whispers: “I like waking up next to you.”

Oh. Iwaizumi's ribcage can’t handle the explosion that occurred in his heart. He can understand, of course. Oikawa in those few dreamlike seconds between sleeping and waking up, where his face is serene and he automatically reach for Iwaizumi's hand, holding him tightly is a memory that becomes crystallized in his mind for the rest of his life. It’s hardly a difficult decision. 

“Tooru, are you sure?” Iwaizumi says, because old habits die hard, and he just wouldn’t be Iwaizumi if he didn’t feel the need to clarify everything twice.

Oikawa wraps his arm Iwaizumi's waist, pulling him tighter. “I am. Are you?”

The view outside Oikawa's window is somehow even more disappointing than the view outside Iwaizumi's. The buildings are replaced with the bricking of an alleyway, only a small strip of blue sky and road to suggest there’s something beyond the wall. It’s a change. It’s a good one.

“Yeah. Yeah I am,” Iwaizumi says, tilting his head to rest on Oikawa's. He holds him closer, savouring the warmth that fills him. He can feel Oikawa's quiet exhales and inhales as he breathes next to him.

“Come on birthday boy, I’ll take you to that Thai place you like,” Oikawa says, gently tapping him on the shoulder. “We can move you in tomorrow.”

Iwaizumi lingers for a moment in the room, inhaling the scent of Oikawa's vanilla cologne. He sees a future with vivid clarity. It’s a crystalline point in time. Iwaizumi’s eyes flutter close for a moment and he can imagine waking up next to him every morning. He thinks he’ll like it here.

**Author's Note:**

> if you've made it this far, thank you for reading and giving my first child a chance! i might make more iwaoi content (maybe even a few other ships from hq bc i'm a sucker for everyone) so expect more from me! kudos' and comments are very much appreciated!


End file.
